


Pas de Deux, adagio

by JamtheDingus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Rapunzel Fusion, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (past), Keith (Voltron)-centric, Keith's Inner Monologue of Hunk's Arms, Kidnapping, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Painting, Romance, Slow Build, Touch-Starved, medieval-esque, mild fairy tale logic, specifically a barbie rapunzel au, yet not a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamtheDingus/pseuds/JamtheDingus
Summary: "I can tell." Hunk can't help but laugh, thumbs rubbing out even more paint that stains his cheeks blue. "You look like you've been in a fight."At Keith's suspicious silence, Hunk's gaze turns serious and his smile disappears faster than the sun at dusk. "What happened?" He asks again, hands dropping to Keith's shoulder.And so, Keith explains everything. He explains how his 'family' is no family at all, how his home is a prison. He explained his paints, and how they got destroyed. He explains the magic he stumbled upon.When he mentions the paintbrush, Hunk's eyes zero in on where it sits, tucked behind Keith's ear again."Your knife turned into apaintbrush. Of all things?""I like painting." Keith says, a touch defensive.---Wake up, do chores, try not to anger his keepers. That was what Keith's days consisted of, for as long as he remembered.Who could blame him for wanting a little more?





	1. Act I.

**Author's Note:**

> (Edit: I SWEAR THIS STORY ISNT AS BAD AS THE TAGS MAKE IT SEEM. they're just to caution you in case those themes are too strong for you to personally handle <3 tread carefully, after all. BUT this is definitely a happy story that doesn't delve into it too deeply.)
> 
>  
> 
> oof there's so much to unpack here.
> 
> in case you skipped over it in the tags, this is definitely based off of the barbie version of rapunzel. No need to watch it, though, but it's just something to know going into this!
> 
> This fic was originally supposed to be something that barely breached 10k but I have no self-control and also I accidentally made the plot more complicated than I needed to. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! h e i t h p u n z e l

Cold paint stains the cuff of his shirt, and he mutters a curse as he hurriedly blots it away with a damp rag. If he got caught looking dirty, he'd no doubt get a dozen more chores forced upon him to 'keep him busy'.

He needed all the free time he could get to finish this painting.

In front of him sat a brilliant piece, if he were allowed to say so for himself. Keith doesn't know where the vision came from, but it perfectly matches his memory. Buildings as tall as the sky— taller than the tower he called his home, even— doused in silver bricks and pink paint. A marvelously large castle with gates that were always open, welcoming all the citizens to come and go as they pleased, he liked to imagine.

A tiny pasture of greens and blues sat off to the side of his painting— his favorite part. He paid special attention to the finer detail of the tree branches, and added a rippling wave or two in the pea-sized pond.

When he pulled back to regard the entire thing, he heard the heart-dropping sound of a portal opening in the gardens. His paintbrush slipped from his grip, and he was able to dodge the blue paint from staining his pants, too, as he rolled from his stool and tore off his shirt to pull on a new one.

Birds chirped at his window, pecking at the paper-thin barrier that let them in and out as they pleased, but kept him locked in the dilapidated villa for as long as its owner so chose.

Speaking of...

He quickly shooed the birds off before Zarkon decided to be cruel and have Keith cook them up for dinner. He could hear the heavy boots as they climbed up the stairs. Not rushed— because Zarkon had an image to maintain— but fast enough to make Keith panic.

He tucked the loose ends of his new shirt into his pants, shoving the dirtied one under his bed and hiding it with the bedskirt.

Just as he stood up straight, his door was shoved open. He pressed his fist against his heart in the salute he'd been taught when he was but a child, and he had to swallow a few times to get his voice to work properly. "Vrepit sa, sir."

Behind Zarkon was his son, Lotor. He looked pissed off, meaning the two must have been in some sort of argument prior to them barging in. He caught Keith's eyes, looked him up and down, and jerked his eyes away with a sneer. Keith had long ago learned not to take it personally.

Zarkon stepped in, circling Keith once— like a vulture hungry for roadkill— before he paused and turned about fourty degrees towards his window.

No.

Towards his painting.

His panic must have been visible on his face, because Lotor walked in and caught Zarkon's attention again. "Really, father. Must you interrupt our conversation to play with your toy _now_ of all times?"

"What I do is none of your business, Lotor."

Zarkon stops in front of the landscape, cape dangling so close that it nearly scrapes off the paint. He angles his head up in disdain, but that could have just been his resting face. Keith couldn't tell right at this angle.

Keith's eyes dart to his right as Lotor slides beside him, and the two have a silent staring contest as they warily crowd around Zarkon.

"Have you finished mopping the floors?" Zarkon asks, and Keith snaps to attention.

"Yes, my lord." It had gotten much easier over the years to let that phrase slip from his tongue. But today, for some reason, it leaves a sour film curling across his tastebuds.

"Cleaning the stables?" Zarkon lifts a gloved finger to run across the outer borders of the painting, dried days ago. Keith doesn't realize he's shaking until Lotor grips him by the forearm, hidden behind their backs as he steps even closer.

"Yes, my lord."

Zarkon drops his hand and steps back. Keith dodges out of the way as he heads for the door, yanking his arm from Lotor's grip.

"Very well. I expect you to clean my carriage and prepare my horses by sunset."

Lotor follows him out, and Keith hurries to grab a sheet to cover his painting with, as if it would save it from Zarkon's wrath. The other two pay him no mind as they get into another argument, and Keith pays _them_ no mind as he moves his easel from the middle of the room, to a hidden corner.

He'd crafted it himself, after a hundred models with broken tree branches in the yard. When Zarkon had first saw it, Keith was sure he'd be killed on the spot.

Instead, he warned him that if it got in the way of his 'duties', he wouldn't hesitate to have it scrapped and lock Keith in his room for the rest of his life.

Keith wouldn't put it past him to let him starve in the damned tower, either.

Zarkon and Lotor crowd his doorway with their raised voices, and he obediently keeps quiet as he waits for them to leave him be until night falls.

He thinks he's home free when Zarkon reaches for the doorknob, yanking it forward out of irritation.

It's fate's cruel hand that has the doorhinge squeak so loud that it cuts their argument in half faster than a nail hammered in a coffin.

Sweat beads and paints a trail from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. All he can hear is the echo of the unoiled hinge, repeating and overlapping in his ears until Zarkon turns his head back into the room.

His eyes seem to glow in the dark of the hall, lit only by a handful of sconces. An ominous purple.

"Have you already forgotten what I told you?" Zarkon says, voice just a twinge too calm. Posture just a joint too relaxed.

"No, my lord. I..." He racks his brain for an excuse. "I wasn't aware it needed fixing. I—"

"I've taken care of you since you were but an abandoned _nothing_ , when I could have let you rot." Zarkon says, and Keith snaps his mouth shut. "I allow you out of this tower to do as you please. I allow you to waste your time on useless arts and crafts. All I ask of you is to keep my home, that I _allow_ you to live in of my own volition, upkept."

Zarkon steps back in, and Keith is intimately aware of the dangerous aura he's sporting. If he hadn't already experienced it before, he'd probably be begging for his life by now.

"And yet... you don't even realize your own _door_ is in need of maintenance." Zarkon grips Keith by his collar and pulls him up on the tips of his toes. "You disrespect me, mutt."

Keith only allows himself a few moments to stare directly in his face before he submissively drops his gaze. "I apologize, sir."

He offers nothing more. Zarkon drops him, causing Keith to stumble when he takes a few steps back.

"This is your only warning. You _will_ follow my orders."

He doesn't need to offer the punishment for disobeying. "Yes, my lord."

The door doesn't squeak when it's slammed shut, this time.

 

\---

 

A dull thump echoes through the clearing, followed briefly by Lance's loud 'whoop' of joy.

"Told ya I could hit it." He says, gesturing towards the painted target on the tree about thirty feet down the way, hidden in a patch of shrubbery.

Pidge grumbles as she digs in her pocket, tossing him a silver piece. "Whatever."

Lance fumbles with it, pointedly ignoring how Pidge snickers at him. "Hunk, buddy! Quit being a loner and come join in the fun, big guy!"

Hunk shoved his goggles off of his head, wiping at the sweat the built under his eyes. The two were only a bit away from his workstation, past where the cobblestone met the grassy forest floor, and they always insisted on visiting him and playing around while he was working.

He was just happy they weren't horsing about in his workshop. "I'm almost done!" He dips the sword he was forging in some water to cool it, and the resulting sound drowns out the pouty 'harumph' he knows that Lance made.

Shiro sits in the little enclave with him, leaning against the curve of the door as he watches over Hunk's process. The sword probably wouldn't be finished for a few more days, but he was in no rush.

The shop was more of a hut cut in half. The back was filled to the brim with the supplies Hunk needed, with a cot half-hidden in the back in case he was too tired to trudge home. His shop front was the sidewalk, really, but he had a small table to showcase his goods off to the side, in case someone wanted a quick dagger for whatever purpose.

Shiro was one of his best customers. Though, that wasn't saying much seeing as he was the crown prince (therefore, the richest in the kingdom), and Hunk was one of the two blacksmiths in town.

Hunk rolled his shoulder, taking a step back from his anvil to breathe in some cool, fresh air.

"Thanks for fixing me a new one, Hunk." Shiro says again, the second time that hour.

Hunk amicably rolls his eyes. "You know I love my work, Shiro. I'm honored you brought her to me."

'Her', referring to Shiro's sword. Though her pommel has changed over the years, the blade has been refashioned and repurposed time and again.

"As if I trust anyone else." Shiro teases, stepping out of the way as Lance barrels into the smithery. Pidge is a beat behind him, carrying an armful of apples, one of which she offers to Shiro.

"Hey, what's this I hear about a masquerade?" She says behind the stem of a green apple snagged in her teeth as she rolls the rest of her cache on Hunk's table, shoving a few knives out of the way.

Hunk dips the sword in water again before he prepares to put it away as he joins in on the conversation. "Isn't it a certain someone's birthday, soon?"

"I wonder who it could be." Lance muses aloud, stealing the red apple from Shiro's palm to replace it with a green one. Before Shiro can fuss, he reveals the worm curling around the opposite side of the red one, laughing outright at the disgusted look that flits across his features.

"I was hoping there wouldn't be much fuss about it." Shiro confesses, wiping away the juice that tries to drip its way down his chin. "I asked the King if we could make it private this year, but..."

"The people want what they want." Pidge finishes, gesturing towards the forest. A few trees are being chopped down to build a stage for the party, for the musicians to play on. Some oaks are probably even going to be fashioned into new instruments, just because.

Shiro hums his agreement, eyes lingering on the treeline. "If it makes him feel better, I won't argue."

They fall quiet, and Hunk shoos Lance away from a chest in the corner to slot the sword inside of it for safekeeping.

"Your opinion matters, too." He offers, offhandedly. Pidge nods her head, mouth stuffed full of an apple already chewed down to its core.

Shiro offers them a shaded smile, shoulders minutely lifting in a shrug. "I'd rather make things easier on him. Especially after..."

The shop grows melancholy as it always does when they mention the King's missing son. Even though it's been almost two decades, it's a sore spot on all of the kingdom, and it would do them well never to dare mention it in the presence of their ruler.

Not that anyone is callous enough to even try.

"We'll just have to make this party a fun one, then." Lance offers, hooking his arm around Shiro's neck. "You know, I heard that the baker was going to make a ten-tier birthday cake this year."

Shiro groans into his palm as Lance leads them away, quickly waving goodbye to Hunk and Pidge as he's tugged around the corner.

The heavy mood doesn't leave with them. Hunk flicks an apple seed at Pidge's mane of hair as she continues to frown, and she throws her apple core at him in retaliation.

"Do you think he's still out there?" She hops onto the table, and a few apples fall and bruise against the cobblestone, rolling out of sight.

"I try not to think about it." Hunk confesses, plopping into a nearby chair. "Where would he even be?"

Pidge only shrugs her shoulders, but she has that gleam in her eye that Hunk knows spells trouble.

He tosses his hands up, exasperated, as she mumbles her goodbye to him before she darts off. Probably to get into a mess that he'll get dragged into, too.

Oh, well.

Hunk leans over his table, sticking his finger out to help the little worm that had been tossed aside. He watches as it rolls around his palm before he gets up and deposits it on the outskirts off his shop, where the grass meets the stone.

Still... _if_ the prince before Shiro is still out there— where did he go?

 

\---

 

Keith keeps his back rigidly straight as he watches Zarkon's carriage cart him and his son away and into the portal that can only be opened by Zarkon's hand.

When the ominous green magic disperses, and the air isn't so heavy anymore, he releases his salute— fist at the heart— with a soft sigh.

The sun is hidden behind the castle, but enough light strays around the edges that he's able to watch as a bunny rabbit hops around the garden, stealing red berries that are sure to stain its white coat.

As much as Keith would have loved to allow for the poor creature to go about its days peacefully and undisturbed, Zarkon would go on a murderous rampage unless he got rid of the 'pest'.

He hurries after the rabbit, shoving his sleeves up past his elbows. The white cottontail had slipped under the bushes and probably into a hole by now, so he drops to his knees and begins crawling along the rows of marigolds and sunflowers until his fingernails are stained heavy with the dirt.

The time ticks away quicker than he hopes— time that he could have spent painting or devising a way to get out of his prison— but he finds the rabbit, completely unaware of him, at the edge of the garden. It's a stroke of luck that the creature hadn't heard him sneaking up, and Keith stays quiet as a mouse as he slides along the dirt, stopping every time a floppy ear so much as twitches near him.

He jumps for it, and the rabbit screams as his hands wrap securely around its body. He grits his teeth as it bites at his fingers, holding the wild thing at arms length until he can get his feet out under him.

It's more of a struggle than it should be, considering the difference in sizes. Keith ends up dropping the rabbit before he can get it out of the garden, and it squeezes underneath another berry bush that sits flush against the tower's walls before he can lunge for it again.

Keith sighs, loud and echoing in the quiet. The sun has set completely by now, and soon the moon will replace it in the sky.

But he has to find that damn rabbit.

He squeezes under the berry bush, patting along the grooves of the dirt for some sort of entrance. He's just lucky Zarkon is to be out all night, or else he'd be in trouble even further for messing with his late wife's garden more than he should be.

Keith searches valiantly, rabbit bites widening to full blown wounds as thorns catch on the abrasions, until the light is all gone and the air turns unpleasantly cool, chilling him to the bone.

He feels a headache coming on as he stands, steadying himself on the brick. He ends up tripping over a thick, upturned root, and probably would have faceplanted into a rosebush if he didn't have such good reflexes.

Instead, he falls against the tower wall, foot kicking straight into a brick. Stone scrapes against stone as it's shoved out of placed, and Keith startles back a few steps.

He drops to his knees again, hesitantly pushing the leaves away. The moonlight just barely catches on the grooves in the new nook he created, but it's just enough that he's able to see that the brick was hollowed out somewhat, and what he kicked away was more or less a cover for it.

Inside of it is a glint of metal, thinly wrapped in a silky cloth that he snatches up before he can stop himself.

He doesn't dare unwrap it here, where prying eyes can see him, and instead shoves it under his pants, against his thigh where his tucked-in shirt hides it completely out of sight, even when he stands straight.

He slots the rock-cover back into place as best he can, and rubs some dirt into the ridges for good measure before he dusts himself off.

The rabbit will have to wait for the morning.

Keith rushes back into his tower, hiding in the shadows even though he had the entire castle to himself. Only three souls lived in this castle, though you could count the portrait in Zarkon's room as a fourth. It was a painting of his wife, sitting in the very castle they resided in now, before she became deathly ill and was sent to another land for healing, until she eventually succumbed to her fate.

Or so the story went. Keith, though he knew it was callous to think, didn't know enough about her to care how the story went.

He huddles into his room, keeping to the far side away from the window as he unsheathes the contraband he'd dug up.

The knife that greets him is so strangely familiar that the handle seems to burn his skin. He holds onto it anyway, squinting at the foreign markings along the middle, glowing _purple_ of all the colors in the spectrum. Yet, not ominous.

He lifts it closer to his face, slowly ambling towards his bed to light a candle. As the orange light coats both he and the foreign object in its warm glow, the engravings speak to him— _sing_ to him.

A lullaby.

"Constant as the stars above..." He whispers, thumb passing over the scripture. "Always know that you are loved?"

The words stop there, but he can feel the tune that follows coursing through his veins so intensely that it hums in his ears, rattling through his brain, before the next verses find their way to his tongue and out into the air.

As he flips the blade over, his heart lurches into his throat and clogs up the song before it can go even further.

_'For our darling baby, whoever they may grow to be, on their first birthday. From mother and father, with love.'_

And then, etched beneath it in such thin paint that it chips at the edge when he runs his finger along it,

_Happy birthday, Keith._

The implications are too much for him. He drops the candle, and the resulting splash of hot wax snuffs out the flame before it even hits the floor. His hands shake as he wraps the knife again, hiding it underneath his pillow.

He stumbles to the window, and the barrier stings him when he presses his palm against it. The pinching pain is enough to chase his heartbeat from his ears, but it still hurts every time it beats heavily in his chest.

He knew he never belonged in Zarkon's castle— but to think that he _hadn't_ been abandoned and left behind by his parents, that they _loved_ him and expected to keep him until he grew up to 'whoever he may have been'...

It hurts in a way he couldn't have expected.

 

\---

 

The next morning, before the sun peeks over the hills and evaporates the dew, Keith heads to the garden again.

His keepers arrived home late that night and aren't expecting him to wake them up until breakfast has been cooked. While the bread is baking in the furnace, he has plenty of time to find that pesky rabbit. Plus, it will be a good excuse as to why his hands are sliced to all heavens.

He brings with him a small garden shovel, just in case he wasn't as thorough in hiding the hole last night, but he nearly drops it when he realizes that Lotor is standing in the garden, directly next to the rose bushes.

"What do you want?" Keith asks, a touch too quickly.

Lotor bares his teeth— not really in a smirk, but just as menacing— and steps out of the garden. Behind him, the fake brick is still neatly notched into place.

"I thought Father didn't want you in his garden." Comes the teasing lilt. In his arms rests the very rabbit that Keith was hunting for, but he tries not to linger on it.

Keith doesn't grace him with a response. He, instead, begins to weed the ground at their feet. As much as Zarkon wanted him out of the garden, he wanted the garden to look presentable much more.

His wife loved roses. Used them in most of her experiments, she loved them so much.

"No fun." Lotor huffs as he steps over Keith's back to head inside. "And really, you _must_ hide your tracks better. You're lucky it was I that took an early walk instead of Father."

Keith startles, looking up at Lotor so fast that he thinks he may have popped a blood vessel.

Lotor winks at him, looking pointedly at the bundle of white fur in his arms. "I would give you some tips but... a true magician keeps his secrets."

He walks a few paces away before he pauses again. "Oh, and... while I'm sure you would prefer I keep out of your private affairs... that knife of yours? The one you found hidden in the tower walls?"

He trails off, and Keith sits back on his haunches to regard him. There is little Lotor would gain with getting Keith exiled, executed, or the like, so there isn't much chance of him tattling to Zarkon. Unless he wanted Keith's room, to which case: he can gladly take it.

"What of it?"

"Oh, nothing." Lotor sing-songs. "I would just keep it hidden, is all. Wouldn't want to trigger its magic in front of Father, would you?"

Keith stares at Lotor, but the latter only glances up at the tower and shakes his head. For the briefest of moments, his face hardens and his eyes grow sad. A gust of wind picks up between them, obscuring his face as his curtain of hair blocks the view.

Lotor says nothing further as he walks away, and Keith doesn't ask.

As he disappears out of sight, Keith looks up at the tower, as if he can see what Lotor saw. It was a new expression that Keith had never seen before, and he has the uneasy feeling bearing down on him that it's only the beginning of something new.

 

\---

 

"How do you guys always drag me into your messes?" Hunk laments, chewing on his thumb nail as he keeps lookout for them.

They'd snuck their way into the castle. As if it were hard. The gates were always open, and the library was free for all citizens to use. (Just not the part that they were in currently.)

Lance shushes him, reaching over Pidge's head to grab another book by its creaky old spine and cracking open the paper stained yellow with age.

"You can't tell me you aren't a little curious. You, the nosiest person of this entire century."

Hunk snorts at them. "Yeah, I'm curious. But I only snoop when I won't get _caught_."

"Can't fault you there." Lance concedes, though he continues to take his sweet time as he thumbs through the pages. "We're almost done. Just keep keeping watch."

"Surely there are some records of what happened." Pidge gripes, standing to cross the library and grab more documents. "Birth records... security reports?"

"I think you're forgetting that the King _hates_ when people bring up his missing child." Hunk hisses back at her. "And keep your voice _down_."

"Seriously." A familiar voice says, and all three of them hop to their feet as they look for the source. "I can hear you from the gardens."

Shiro steps out into the light, arms sternly crossed. "You know you're not supposed to be here."

Pidge hides their findings with her tiny hands. "We were just..."

"Looking around." Lance finishes lamely, with a wince. When Shiro arches one of his brows at them, they sigh and step back. "You aren't going to give us up to the King and have us hung, are you?"

Shiro looks fondly exasperated at that as he shoos them to the doorway. "Of course not."

Hunk heaves a sigh of relief, and Lance sticks his tongue out at him instead of saying 'toldya so'.

"But I'll have to rethink that if I catch you guys in here again." Shiro says, stern again. "You can't just go through the King's belongings."

He holds his hand out expectantly to Pidge, who thins her lips before she reaches beneath her shirt and produces the roll of parchment she'd snuck underneath it. He hooks it underneath his arm and waves them off.

"You'd better keep out of trouble!" He calls as they shuffle down the hall, whispering conspiratorially regardless of his warning.

As they disappear from sight, probably off to get breakfast, Shiro glances down at the rolled leaflet. It's frayed at the edges and in desperate need of a loving hand, but the words read fine when he unravels it.

A birth certificate. Of the old prince, it seems, though the information is sparsely filled. The name is even missing.

Shiro shrugs his shoulder, though it does make his heart twinge for a moment. As much as he didn't want to be the next in line for the throne, he owed it to the King to make up for his son's disappearance.

A small part of Shiro's brain knew it wasn't his fault that the missing prince was abducted, but the rest of him bared that guilt heavily on his shoulders. He was born to become a part of the royal guard. If only he'd been a few years older, he could have done something to fend them off. The prince would still be there, and the King would be happy.

Shiro wouldn't have to take on his role himself.

It made no logical sense, he knew. But he was getting better with accepting it.

He slipped the pages back where they belonged and moved to lock the library to keep out any other nosy creatures. For now, he had more duties to attend for his birthday, and a King to look after.

It was going to be a busy day.

 

\---

 

After Keith prepares breakfast, sets the table, and receives his chores for the day, he hurries up to his room.

The blade is still waiting for him under his pillow, completely untouched. The engravings are still there, too, and he can still read them somehow. The lullaby won't leave him as long as he holds onto the pommel, wrapped in a leather that's so soft against his palm it feels like silk.

Maybe that's the magic Lotor was talking about.

He lets his finger press against the sharp point before he hides his gift again, a forlorn smile making its way to his lips.

Someone loved him enough to buy him a _gift_. It made his heart flutter.

But now he had work to do. First, cleaning his tower.

It isn't a very high tower, but the stairs are a doozy after a long day of difficult chores. Something Keith experiences often.

He gets to work clearing his fireplace, first. It's the only thing that keeps him warm at night, and has built up quite a bit of ash over the week or so since its last cleaning.

He strips his bed of its sheets and lays the thickest one out in front of the fireplace. Then, he begins to shovel and rake out the old, crusty ash and wood that refused to burn. As he picks through the black, he makes sure to save any coals that he can. It's rare that Zarkon allows him to take more for himself, and he has to make the most of what he has, now that winter is approaching.

Once his fingers are thoroughly stained and every corner of the crude fireplace is free of whatever ash he can get out with just his fingernails, he brushes the mess to the middle of his sheet and securely ties the ends into a knot.

What he doesn't use as soap, he'll save for composting. He has a few plants in the corner of his room that he'd taken to growing after Zarkon had disappeared for a week or so, and he had nothing to feed himself with. Now he'll atleast have a few ripe tomatoes to snack on while he's painting something new.

He heads down the stairs for two buckets of water, but the pitcher pump refuses to work for about twenty minutes. The soot stains the iron cast handle, though it'll be washed away with the next rain, and he wipes at his brow as he starts again.

Finally, water trickles into the buckets.

His arms strain to lift them as he heads back up the stairs, but he forces himself to hurry along. The buckets he was given are prone to leaking, and he'd rather not slip and fall on cobblestone and have to roll down ten flights worth of spiral stairs.

He rinses off his fingertips in the water and wipes his hands on his hips before he gets to work.

With a raggedy old mop he keeps in the corner he begins to scrub at the nooks of his stone floor, scaring off any insects that seemed to make their home in the grooves. He doesn't want to waste soap today, so they aren't exactly spotless by the time he finishes, but it's good enough.

The window— nothing more than an extra large hole carved out of the wall— will ensure that it dries thoroughly, so he doesn't bother with that. Instead, he searches around his paltry wardrobe for a change of clothes and a towel.

He hooks his findings over the long stick he uses to tote around his buckets and begins his trek back down the stairs for a shower.

On the way out the door, towards the back of the castle, he snags a half-used bar of soap and a hair-comb from the apple basket he repurposed.

The water in the buckets are a little murky, but he knows from experience that it's just unsettled sediment floating around. He hooks the buckets up to his shower system, controlled by a handy rope to tip said bucket back over his head.

Waste not, want not.

He strips, angling his hips away from the castle windows. It was nearing ten or so in the morning, right when Lord Zarkon would be waking from his nap after breakfast time. And he'd already seen Lotor skulking about, so he'd preserve his privacy as much he could.

He scrubs away at his skin as fast he can, goosebumps pluming across his arms everytime he tips the cold water over his head.

He uses half the bucket for his body and saves the other half for his hair, which clings to his skin as far down as his hips. With the same bar of soap he used, he lathers up the locks of inky black and scrubs out the dirt that clumped at the ends from his traipse in the garden.

Then begins his favorite part. The comb he'd fashioned out of old cow bone had lost quite a few of its teeth, but it was perfectly fine as he glided through his hair, untangling the uncomfortable knots at his skull. He tried, as often as he could, to take care of his hair but more often than not just left it up in a long braid to keep it out of the way of his chores.

He dawdled more than he probably should have, combing through his hair until his fingers passed through every strand smoothly and the smell of dirt washed away.

He'd have to add something to it later to make it smell good, like some of the rose oil he'd taken from Lotor's garbage years ago, but he'd save that for when he wanted to make himself feel better.

Today didn't seem to be his lucky day, though, as the comb ends up cracking and breaking almost as soon as he finishes. A short gust of wind blows away the smaller crumbles in his palm, and he forces himself to muffle his sigh.

There was probably another one somewhere in the basement that he could find, later.

He braided himself up. But, for some reason, he left it to dangle at his back instead of looping it around itself into a bun. He was feeling a bit free today, and wanted his hair to breathe. It was rare that he let it rest at its full-length, even when he was all alone.

He hurried to get dressed in his clothes; a simple shirt that used to be Zarkon's before he tailored it to fit himself, and a pair of pants that he didn't even remember getting.

Keith headed back up to his room after he was all done, though he did stop to refill one of the water buckets. He left the other one back where it belonged before he headed up to his room.

The next part of cleaning his tower was cleaning his clothes. His were to be kept separate from Lotor's and Zarkon's, so he figured it was easiest to just do it while he still had the well ready to give out water.

He scrubbed at his clothes with that same bar of soap he used to wash himself, until his fingers were sore. The paint on his other shirt's cuff faded but didn't truly wash out, so he would have to do something more with it later.

For now, he had to clean his soot-stained sheets so that it would dry before night fell. It was one of the only things that kept him warm.

He scrubbed and scrubbed at it until the water was stained a murky black that reflected his face back at him. Once most every piece of dirt and ash was picked off of the sheet, he wrung it out as best he could and shook out the excess. He hung it up to dry on the wooden shower stall, tying two ends of it through an old hole that he'd stabbed out of the wood so that it wouldn't fly away.

His hands longed to hold his paintbrush as soon as he finished, but the day was still early. He still had to wash the dishes, sweep the balconies and polish the windows, and put on tea for the royals as they went over whatever paperwork they had.

Keith had learned not to question why they had papers that implied they owned a kingdom not so far away.

He rolled his sore shoulders until the twinge of pain that coursed through his muscles went away. Then, he straightened his spine and rolled up his sleeves. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he would be free.

 

\-----

 

In the afternoon, after most of his chores are finished and he's put on tea to heat over the nice fireplace in the main part of the castle, he searches around for a candelabra.

He'd never really gone into the basement. Not for years, and Zarkon never told him to clean down there so he never bothered to take the trek through the dusty thing. It was implied that he wasn't allowed to but...

Down there were Zarkon's wife's belongings. And in the paintings and portraits that haunted the halls she had thick, long hair that was neatly styled and combed over her shoulders. It didn't take much of a brain to come up with the idea.

He'd just have to be quick, is all.

When he reaches the bottom step, the basement is a lot dirtier than he remembers. Cobwebs thickly line ever corner of the room, hiding bugs that are both alive and half-eaten. When he passes the dim light of a candle over the bookshelves, the shadows play tricks with him. Figures dance across the floorboards, and he startles backwards when a mouse crosses his path.

He sets the candle down, lest he set the whole place on fire.

The candle flickers once, and he lifts his hand to feel for a breeze. It comes as a surprise when he feels a soft gust of wind pass over his palm, but he shrugs his shoulders. He doesn't have to look for holes to repair in a basement he isn't allowed in.

He rolls up his sleeves again before he dives into a number of boxes for something to comb his hair with. In the first, he finds an old hairbrush. It's missing a dozen bristles, and still has white strands of hair in it, and he puts it back before one can drop on the floor and give him away if Zarkon wanders down someday.

In the next he finds nothing but old clothes. He idled there, curiosity taking over him. He sets the heavy box next to the candle for better light and begins to unpack it; fingering sleeves embroidered with silk cuffs, marveling at the soft colors. None of the colors are faded and bleached, a juxtaposition to his in an obvious way.

He hesitates. If he hurries, he might be able to try on the dress and still be able to have enough time to change back and serve the tea.

Keith picks through the box again, through the delicate fabrics that curl around his fingers like jelly, until he reaches the very bottom.

Something red catches his eye, and when he pulls it out to its full length to catch the light, it's almost the same color as the amaranth plants he tried growing in the summer.

The sleeves are long and plain, and the skirt seems to come with its own petticoat that makes its flare just a bit at the waist.

He kind of falls in love with it. It's just long enough to brush his ankles when he holds it to his chest, and he barely resists twisting in place to feel how it moves.

When he drapes the dress back in the box, with plans in the back of his mind to come back for it and refit it for himself, the mouse returns to skitter across his feet.

He _may_ screech at the feeling, though he definitely jumps back on his heels. Unfortunately, the wood must have eroded over time or had some sort of rot because his shoe slams straight through it, and he goes sprawling backwards. He's lucky he doesn't get a thousand splinters.

With a groan, he sits up to survey the damage, pressing at the tender spot on his rear-end from the impact.

He yanks his foot out of the accident and fingers around the wood until he realizes the breeze from before is much stronger. When he grabs the candle and brings it closer, it nearly snuffs out.

He murmurs to himself, pulling himself to the very edge with the intent of dropping down to explore when he hears Zarkon bellow his name.

Keith scrambles, much like the mouse that nibbled at his toes. He shoves the dress back in the box and slots it back into place, blowing the candle out so the wax can cool. There's nothing to cover the hole with that won't give him away, and he glances back at it as he jogs up the stairs.

As soon as Zarkon left for the afternoon, Keith would be back down to explore.

 

\---

 

Hunk muffles a laugh as Pidge pouts at him from the tree she was stuck in, dangling by her belt.

"That's what you get, you little chipmunk." He teases, even as he lifts her by her legs to untangle her. "What are you two even doing up there?"

"Spying." Pidge huffs once she gets the solid ground underneath her.

"Or falling, in Birdie's case." Lance calls from the highest branch, reclining without a care. As if he hadn't been about to drop from twelve feet high to get Pidge down. "What're _you_ doing out here, big guy?"

"Shiro's guards are raiding my shop for new gear." He says, tossing his thumb over his shoulder towards his blacksmithery. "It'll probably be an hour before I can get back in there."

Then, he backtracks. "What are you spying on?"

"The enemy kingdom, over the way." Pidge gestures past the mountains. "I thought we could see if we got higher ground-"

"Which, by the way, you can't!" Lance helpfully intrudes.

"— and figure out if there was going to be another attack."

Hunk places his hand, heavy completely by accident, on her head and shields the sun from his eyes with the other as he looks up at Lance. "You'd better not fall! I won't catch you."

"Pidge will!" Lance laughs. He pulls out his trusty pan flute and begins to tweet them a short melody, as Pidge groans and shakes her head, climbing up the tree again.

Hunk hovers at the bottom, just in case she gets stuck again, but she makes it to an adjacent branch as Lance and pulls out a map she must have snuck from the library without Shiro noticing. Hunk quickly evacuates, then, before he gets pulled into another mess.

He wandered past the sparsely inhabited forest that was more like a clearing, until he reached the pond he liked to frequent. The waterfall attached to it, filling it with fresh, clear blue, was always something he marveled at.

He plopped down by the water, watching the ripples course through the surface.

The attacks were getting more frequent, the closer they got to Shiro's birthday. Probably to kill the heir to the throne before he became the new King.

But they hadn't had one in a while, which was probably why they were a bit on edge. Security was going to be spread thin as a twine string during the big party— because what better way to make a statement than to kill a political figure at his own event, after all.

Hunk winced at the harsh thought and quickly shook it from his mind. Shiro hated the attacks almost as much as Kolivan hated the enemy kingdom, to the east. Galran territory.

Actually... now that he thought about it, there was a rumor that they were the ones that stole the missing prince.

He grimaced. What an ordeal that would be, if it were true.

 

\---

 

Keith carefully masks his impatience as Zarkon climbs into the carriage. His shoulderpads are so large that they nearly knock against the threshold, and Keith has to lift his cape and stuff it around his feet for it to fit.

Lotor isn't going with him, this time. He stands beside Keith with an irritated quirk to his brow, though when Zarkon turns to speak with him his voice is easily deferential— fake to even Keith with his own phony, passive attitude.

Keith glances over his shoulder, towards the castle. Vines have begun to encroach on the corners— something he'll have to deal with eventually. The sun isn't necessarily high in the sky, but high enough that he'll have time to explore the strange hole he discovered.

He heaves a soft sigh, running his thumb across his fingertips. The knife under his pillow left a permanent phantom across them, and he now longs for it immensely throughout the day.

Who knows what's waiting for him in the tunnel. It would be in his best interest to take it along.

He's so distracted with his plans that he doesn't notice that the conversation has lulled, and Zarkon has turned to him with an expectant gaze. When Keith turns back to them, he's startled to realize that his eyes, once again glowing that strange purple ombre, are trained directly on him.

Keith carefully schools his face again, saluting with his fist pressed to his heart. Zarkon says nothing, though, and Keith hurries to shut the carriage door so he can be off.

As soon as he disappears from sight, a scowl claws its way across Lotor's features. He, too, ignores Keith as he stomps off.

Keith couldn't be more grateful. He keeps his pace steady as he heads back in, as if his heart wasn't beating wildly and urging him to go to the basement as fast as his feet can carry him. If it led him outside of the barrier that kept him locked away... He would want nothing more than to be able to lean out of a high window without the threat of being zapped, feeling the breeze as it drifts through his hair. He could probably die happy.

He climbs the stairs to his room and back down again without a hitch, which is honestly surprising to him. Especially when he crosses paths with Lotor on the way back to the basement, and the other brushes on by without a quip or even a curious look.

Keith circles the kitchen for a few minutes after that, ear trained to the doorway. It's a precious few minutes wasted that he could have spent memorizing every rock in the tunnel, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.

But he does eventually find himself at the hole in the ground again. The breeze is as strong as ever as he lights the candle, but it's light enough that the candle doesn't snuff out without his hand in front of it.

In his other hand, he grips the dagger. It fills him with some sort of thrumming energy as if it's pulling him towards wherever the tunnel leads, and _urgently._

He doesn't resist the call.

The tunnel is nothing notable as he travels down it. Just a hole dug through, with walls packed solid as he runs his fingers against them. It must have been built purposefully, but been abandoned for decades. He hopes it won't cave in on him.

 

\---

 

Keith reaches the end of the tunnel without a cave in. He'd hardly spotted an earthworm, actually.

What he sees when he emerges, though, is enough to make his eyes prick with tears that he furiously blinks away.

He first sees a forest. A sparsely decorated forest of mostly clearing than trees, but more than he's ever been in nonetheless. In the distance, there's a town. A kingdom, maybe, because he spots the pointed tops of a castle when he squints past the sunlight.

And the sunlight itself is so warm against his skin that he stops and lifts his head up to the sky, inhaling the fresh air. All new birdsongs echo in his ear, all new smells light up his mind. He's shaking as he puts his knife away, dropping the candlestick near the entrance of the cave so that he doesn't lose it.

He takes off for the trees. He'd always wanted to climb one.

Before he can even lift a foot off the ground to press it against the bark, he hears a startled scream that jerks him out of his trance. Then, shouted words— worried by the sounds.

He doesn't hesitate for a moment. Keith runs for the noise, pausing only to step over thick tree roots.

When he makes it to the panic area, he spots a tiny person just far enough away from him that they don't notice him tumble from the treeline. Someone with a mane of brown hair, like chestnuts and golden tea, is shouting into what must have been a hole in the ground, covered by thick leaves.

"Hang on, Lance!" She shouts, and the panic is evidence in her form as she whistles sharp and loud, some sort of signal. Even though it doesn't appear, she heads for the woods. "I'll get help!" She calls back, sharply. "Hang on!"

She disappears, and Keith rushes over to the hole.

It's... incredibly deep. Thick vines sprout from the walls, and a figure is dangling from one just outside of the lip.

Keith drops to his stomach and reaches out his hand. "Grab on!"

Lance startles at the unfamiliar voice, nearly slipping off. His eyes narrow for half a second, but he struggles to find a foothold anyway. The ground gives under his feet, and the vine sinks a precious few inches lower. "I can't!"

Keith grunts, digging his fingers into the grass for something to hold onto as he reaches in deeper. "Just reach for me— I'll catch you!"

Lance grits his teeth, an argument on the tip of his tongue. Keith strains for him as much as he can, and Lance takes a steadying breath before he yanks on the branch to pull himself up, and their hands slap together.

Keith pulls with all his might, and Lance yelps as the vine slips from his grasp, tumbling in the neverending hole he was trapped in. His other hand flails through the air, and Keith hurries to catch it, too.

Only, the ground is incredibly unstable beneath him. He slips forward just a few inches more, but that is enough for it to crumble under their combined weight. He holds on tight to Lance's hands, yelling along with the other as he's dropped in along with him.

But, just before he can go feet over head into what is most definitely a death trap, warm palms press against his hips. Fingers grip tightly to his belt, keeping both him and Lance from falling any further.

He's yanked out without a grunt from the newcomer, and Lance comes sprawling out along with him.

Keith stumbles as he tries to right himself, and the warm hands lift from his hips to his waist to steady him.

"Careful!" A voice says, so close to him that the vibrations tickle across his skin. His breath catches as he looks up at his savior, and he's sure he must go red in the face as he takes a cautious step back.

"Hunk!" The girl from earlier shouts, completely out of breath as she flops on the ground beside Lance. Keith isn't sure if it's a nickname or not, but... he's prone to agree, regardless.

Said 'Hunk' steps over to Lance's other side, helping him to sit up. "You okay, buddy?"

Lance wheezes, probably winded from the impact of flying up five feet in the air and sent back to the ground just as hard. Keith's arms hurt just from holding onto him so tightly.

He awkwardly pads over, too. "You should watch where you're going." He says, carefully hovering behind Hunk's back.

Lance gets over his dramatics with a snap at that, glaring daggers at Keith. " _Excuse_ me?" He sputters. "You almost pulled my arms from my sockets!"

"I was trying to help!" Keith huffs. "Unless you _wanted_ to fall to your death."

Lance jumps up and, before it can get physical, Hunk presses him back. "Easy, bud. We'd better take you to the healers, or just... get you somewhere safer." He looks pointedly at the trap they were not even twelve inches from.

Before Lance can argue, Pidge grabs him by the forearm and begins to tug him towards the direction of the village. "Yeah— c'mon, you big baby. Shiro will kill us if we let you walk around with a broken back, or something."

And, even though her words sound harsh, they all can tell that she's shaken by the experience. Even Keith.

Lance sighs, and the dramatics come back as he exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, flexing one arm. "As if anything could hurt me. I'm too beautiful for that."

When he looks to Hunk, expecting some sort of agreement as usual, he’s startled to see Hunk shooting an enamored gaze Keith’s way. The latter of which is doing nothing spectacular to speak of, just brushing dirt from his outfit with a shy flush on his face.

It takes an incredible amount of skill and practice not to deviously grin at them, but it helps that neither are looking his way. He ruffles Pidge’s hair as she tugs him along, instead.

“We’re going ahead.” Lance says. And then repeats, when neither react.

He rolls his eyes, and Pidge hides her snicker behind her sleeve as they take off, and, after they've shambled quite a distance away, Hunk hurriedly calls after them with, "I'll come check on you in a bit!"

Lance snorts, but his responding quip gets lost in the breeze.

Keith watches them go, but his eyes eventually find their way back to Hunk before they even disappear from sight.

He can still feel the residual warmth staining his hips, and it takes almost everything in him not to trace the pattern it left.

Hunk catches him staring, and offers him a kind smile. "I don't think I've seen you around before." His eyes curiously look Keith over, and Keith tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear.

"I'm not _from_ around here." He offers back. But, before Hunk can ask questions he doesn't need the answers to, Keith gestures back to the hole behind them. "Are those normal here?"

Hunk's kind look sours as he regards the trap again. "Unfortunately, they're becoming part of the norm." But then he shakes his head and the soft look comes back as he gives Keith his full attention again. It's enough to make Keith nervous— to make his stomach knot and fill with butterflies.

Hunk offers his elbow, and Keith grabs it by instinct. Because Hunk's shirt is mostly sleeveless, Keith's palm comes into direct contact with his skin. It's so much different from Keith's that he can't help but focus on it. His fingers pass over the occasional scar, and his skin catches on the coarse hairs on Hunk's forearm.

He can also very clearly feel the strength Hunk has encompassed in the muscles there. Hidden under a layer of soft is probably enough power to send Keith straight across the kingdom, yet he uses it instead to lead around a stranger.

Keith is sure he must give marvelous hugs.

If Hunk notices that strange obsession Keith immediately develops, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he tugs Keith along until they reach his shop. It wasn't very far, so the silence between them doesn't have a chance to grow awkward.

When Hunk offers him a seat, Keith glances back at the sky. An hour— maybe less— had passed since he'd begun his adventure. The wooden stool squeaks when he plops into it, and Hunk smiles at him again.

"What's your name?" Hunk asks as he pours them drinks. "I'm—"

"Hunk." Keith interrupts. "I, uh... I heard."

Hunk looks surprised at that, and Keith ducks his head down. A teacup slides into his view, and he presses his palms against the porcelain to warm his fingers. Keith glances up at Hunk between his eyelashes, but Hunk doesn't press any further.

Instead, he sits in an unvarnished chair across from him, taking a quiet sip of his tea before he smacks his lips together and reaches for some honey. He adds two teaspoons worth, swirling it around until it dissolves and the color changes to a softer, deep brown.

Keith watches as he takes another sip, and the blissed look that follows is enough for him to slide his teacup forward again. "Could I...?"

"Of course!" Hunk shovels two heaping teaspoons of honey into Keith's cup, even going as far as to mix it in for him. "Didn't mean to be rude."

Keith mumbles softly, probably some sort of mitigation. If he's being honest with himself, he'd never felt so shy before.

To be fair, though, he'd only ever been around two other people.

He takes a sip of the tea, and his eyes squeeze shut as the taste— all new and incredibly sweet— soaks into his tongue. When he opens his eyes again, Hunk is staring him down with a curious look.

Keith wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" Hunk hurries to soothe, and his bright smile comes back easily. "I'm just a bit curious about you, is all."

Keith tilts his head to the side, and he must look as incredulous as he feels because Hunk snickers at him. But, despite the burning curiosity he feels, he doesn't ask a single question. He doesn't even ask for his name again.

They make small talk. Hunk tells him about his work, even goes as far as to explain the basic process of how to make a sword. Keith almost, _almost_ , pulls out his knife to ask if he'd seen anything like it before— or if he knew where he could find who made it— but he restrains himself at the last moment.

Keith shares what little things he can, instead. He shares a few tips on how to get stains out of clothes, because Hunk ends up spilling some of his tea across his thigh. When Hunk gets up to refill their tea, he even shares a few stretches he'd invented over the years to help with strained muscles.

"I'm not sure I'll remember every move but, I appreciate it." Hunk said, and his tone was earnestly grateful. Keith hardly knew how to respond to it. Hunk even reached over to place his palm over Keith's, thumb grazing against thumb. It was almost too much to handle.

"Maybe I could visit again and show you." Keith says, after a minute's hesitation. His voice almost trembles as he speaks, but he's proud that he reigns it in at the last second. "Or... share some more, if you like."

Hunk brightens considerably at the prospect of seeing Keith again. "I would like that."

There's something about his voice that so easily disarms Keith. He's sincere, and _soft_ , and he offers plenty of gentle touches that set fire to Keith's skin.

He's so disarmingly charming that the time passes quickly. Keith relaxes, and ends up reclined against the table as he watches Hunk describe some sort of adventure he got dragged into by Lance and Pidge, as he learned their names to be.

"I wish I could do that." He muses, after one story Hunk describes about an adventure in another city. "This is the farthest I've ever traveled."

Hunk gives him that curious look that he seems to save only for those cryptid comments Keith lets slip here and there. "How far is that?"

Keith frowns. "I... couldn't tell you." He admits.

Hunk hums his response as he leans against the table, arms crossing atop it as he studies Keith's face. The firepit behind him casts shadows across his expression that do nothing but enhance the ruggedly pretty angles of his jaw. If the sun weren't so low in the sky, Keith would be able to study him in greater detail.

As that thought processes in his mind, his eyes widen. He whips his head towards the sky again and he swears his heart stops cold in his chest. The sky is dark with pinks and oranges, just barely being encroached by the black that follows the moon.

"The— time! I have to go!" Keith jumps up, carefully juggling the teacup. It's luckily empty, so he doesn't spill anything across the table, but he would hate to have broken it nonetheless.

Hunk jumps up with him at the panic, but Keith waves him off. "No, no need to see me off. I'm... _late_." He huffs. "Can't explain right now. It was wonderful to talk to you."

He turns away, but Hunk catches his hand before he can leave and gives him a gentle tug. "It was wonderful talking with _you_."

When Keith looks at him, he looks crestfallen. Keith's shoulders drop, and he hesitates for a brief moment before he encroaches on Hunk's space and gently presses his hand against Hunk's arm. "I'll... try to come back." He promises, and then, vulnerably says, "Spending time with you was probably the highlight of my life."

Hunk turns bashfully red at the confession, and Keith smiles. He squeezes Hunk's bicep once before he slips from his grasp. "Sorry." He offers, nodding his head once.

He dashes off, back towards the forest they'd collided in. Hunk watches him go, face aflame as Keith merges with the shadows and disappears behind a tree.

The fireplace crackles behind him, and Hunk drops heavily into a chair as he tries to calm his racing heart. His hand drifts to his arm, tracing the place where Keith had touched.

Hunk couldn't wipe the lovestruck smile from his face, even if he wanted to.

 

\---

 

Keith can honestly say that he'd never ran as fast as he did that night. He rushes through the tunnel, tripping over dirt he'd kicked up on the way out as he struggled to light a candle with a piece of flint.

In the end, he couldn't light it. He abandoned it at the entrance of the tunnel, just below the hole that he had to jump through to get back inside the castle. He would need it again anyway, for his next adventure.

It took a bit of finagling to actually hoist himself over the lip of the broken floorboards, especially since he had no help, but he made it. Unfortunately, he was in no state to be serving food to Zarkon and his son like that— and he had no time for a bath.

He heads to his tower, treading carefully. None of the wooden floors should squeak— he'd been reprimanded enough for squeaky things to last a lifetime, after all— but he's careful anyway.

He's just made it to the door of his tower when someone clears their throat behind him.

"Someone must have had a little party."

Keith clenches his fist tight against his stomach, suppressing any and all fight-or-flight instincts he had. When he turns, his face is neutral, but that can't hide the dirt smudged across it. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Lotor steps closer, gripping Keith's wrist before the latter can back away to the safety of his tower. He yanks Keith forward, his other hand digging into the braid Keith had tied that morning, only to pull out a handful of leaves.

Leaves that were bright and green, instead of the half-dead brown and grey that border the castle's barriers. Keith breath catches as Lotor crumples them in his grip, letting the tiny pieces rain back down onto their shoes.

"You're lucky that _I_ caught you, instead of Father." Lotor gripes, throwing Keith's hand from his grip. "And even luckier still that Father isn't home, yet. Won't be until the morning, I'm sure you'd like to know."

It _was_ , but he wasn't going to let Lotor know that. "Is there something you wanted, Lotor?"

Lotor studies his nails. "Not particularly. Just wondering where my Father's favorite little toy wandered off to." He turns, then. Keith watches him head down the hall, and if he squints he can see that Lotor is more tense than usual. "Oh— by the way... I would hide that knife of yours somewhere more secure. You know how Father loves to pilfer, and all."

Keith says nothing as Lotor finally disappears down the corner, but he can only pray that his heartbeat isn't as loud as it is in his own ears.

He dashes up the stairs, most of them taken two at a time until he reaches the very top and lurches for the door. It's slightly ajar, just enough to show that yes, Lotor had been in his room, and he shoves it open so hard that it bangs against the wall.

When he dives on his bed, throwing the understuffed pillow onto the floor, the knife is exactly where he left it. He keeps the door in his periphery as he lifts his present, fingertips gently inventorying every shiny line of it. It had no new fingerprints, so no one had grabbed it but... It was much too close for comfort.

He needs a hiding place for it.

Keith sighed, suddenly tired in a way that ached his bones and made his heart heavy. He shut his door, and dropped to his hands and knees to search for a crevice where he could hide his precious gift.

If anything, he could always put it back where he found it.

As he circled and circled around for a loose stone, or someplace hidden under his bed, he came across his paints. The tubes were all, at the very most, half-empty and it instantly filled him with the overpowering need to paint something close to his heart— to lift his spirits.

He thumbed across his colors until he reached the brown one. If he mixed it just right, he might be able to make it vibrant enough to mimic Hunk's eyes.

At that thought, he felt himself blush. He slotted the knife in his belt, behind his shirt in case he got any visitors while he was busy.

He could pause in his search just to sketch out the idea, right?

With a grin that he rarely allowed to grace his features, he pulls out a fresh canvas and sets up his paints.

 

\---

 

"He was incredible." Hunk sighs, just a touch too dreamy for Lance's tastes. He flops onto the mattress, nearly knocking Pidge off of her corner of it.

"Who are we talking about?" She asks, hissing as Lance squeezes too tight on one of the many braids he was looping in her hair. He tuts at her to shush the noise, though he does go back to loosen it.

"Hunk's new _lover_. The one that threw me on the ground."

"The one that saved you, you mean." Shiro piped up from his position on the floor, between Pidge's legs as she oils his prosthesis for him. Lance only rolls his eyes, despite the fact that Shiro can't see them, and continues on with his hair braiding.

Hunk sighs again, pressing his hands against his heart. "I hope I can see him again."

"Why wouldn't you?" Pidge mumbles from behind a brush, slicked with oil at the tip, stuffed between her teeth.

"He doesn't get out much." Hunk shrugs his shoulders. "He ran off before I could even get his name."

At that, Shiro's eyes narrowed. Pidge grimaced at the look, pulling away so that he could sit up properly and look Hunk in the eye. "And he just showed up, out of the blue?"

"I..." Hunk frowns. The mood grows tense in the bedroom, and Lance lets go of Pidge so that the two of them can squeeze out around Shiro and pretend to busy themselves. "Shiro, it's not like that."

"He could be a spy, Hunk." Shiro says anyway, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe off any excess grease from his arm. "You _know_ we're at war."

"Not technically!" Hunk argues. "And... it's not _like_ that. He doesn't seem like the type."

"I'm sure it's his job not to seem like the type."

At Hunk's disheartened look, Shiro's gaze softens. He reaches over to press a firm hand against Hunk's shoulder, prompting him to look up again. "I'm just asking you to be careful. We can't let our kingdom be vulnerable."

It's unspoken that the King probably wouldn't be able to handle it. As strong a leader he is, he's heartbroken. Has been heartbroken for nearly two decades.

"Okay." Hunk mumbles. Shiro gives him another squeeze, and Hunk slumps over. "I'm not sure I'll even see him again. He ran off in such a panic."

"Well… If my hunch is right, I know you will." Shiro says, supportive even in his most cautious of moods. "Maybe you can ask him to the party."

Hunk twiddles his thumbs. "Maybe."

He glances out the window, where the sun had just begun to rise. _Maybe_ he could get him a gift, too. In case Keith said yes.

 

\---

 

Keith yawns, stretching his arms high above his head. He lets them drop heavily, curling both his hands overtop the end of a broom as he watched the animals in the yard eat their morning slop.

He'd stayed up much too late the night prior, painting. In the end, he'd gotten to embarrassed to paint Hunk, especially from memory, and instead settled on his shop instead. The only reason why he'd stopped is because he'd run out of brown paint, and would probably have to beg Zarkon to fetch more for him.

Which meant he would have to work extra hard today, to stay in his good graces.

Keith straightened up, resolve returning to him quicker than lightning. He swept hay from the rainbow cobblestone that led to the front door of the castle, faded to muted greys with age.

His knife is safely hidden in his room. Underneath the bed, slotted beneath the slat of wood that kept his bed level and off the ground. He didn't expect to be able to keep it there forever, but until he found a better place (and he would be sure to always be on the lookout for one) that would have to do.

He completes his chores without much fuss. His hair is much of a mess that day, and it reminds him why he went down to the basement in the first place. He combs through it with his fingers as best he can between one chore and the next, and keeps it in a tight ponytail behind his back.

After lunch is served, he heads out to clean his clothes that were dirtied from his impromptu adventure. While he scrubs the dirt from the sleeves, his mind wanders back to the beautiful dress he'd found hidden away. He didn't dare wear it out and about— seeing as it was probably Zarkon's wife's. He would get _killed_.

But, maybe he could sneak it up to his room. It would probably feel nice to dance around in, in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep.

He heaves a soft sigh, thumbing the rough linen shirt in his grasp. He would have to stitch himself something softer.

Maybe Hunk could lend him something.

He laughs to himself at that notion, completely unaware of the endearingly soft look that washes over him.

Zarkon narrows his eyes from his balcony as he watches the bastard child. He says nothing as Keith flits here and there in the yard, finishing up every single duty assigned to him.

He doesn't miss the way his cheeks are flushed with what is obviously infatuation. With a grunt, Zarkon turns back to his room. He'd have to keep an eye on the little stolen child, if he expected things to keep running smoothly in his kingdom. It wouldn't do to have his bargaining chip gain some sort of autonomy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> editing this was a fucking pain in the ASS but got damn did it need it. i wrote this while i was struggling with writing and i wasn't confident in how it would read but damn.... I Did That.
> 
> <3 LMAO hope you enjoyed! only one part to go! (next chapter is literally all the plot. i had so much fun writing this first part even though its just a whole bunch of Set Up sdhasjldhal)
> 
> keep ya eyes out for the next chapter! i'm so close to finishing it i can taste it....


	2. Act II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't resist posting this a day early im sorry sdjlhasdjlas 
> 
> this is the final chapter, which is where most of the warnings are put into play but honestly? it's not that bad! i promise!!!
> 
> sidenote: i wasn't expecting pidge, lance, or shiro to have as much of a role in this as they did but... they're Here and they Did That. wild kids.
> 
> i had a ton of fun writing this, so I hope that you all enjoy it as much as I did!

Keith sneaks down to the basement again that evening. The sun sits low enough in the sky that the blue dissolves into orange, and he would _definitely_ have to be back before dinner this time but...

He desperately wanted to see Hunk again.

So, Keith had stuffed on a fresh pair of pants, tied his messy clump of hair up as best he could, and hidden his knife on his person. Maybe Hunk would know something about it— being a blacksmith.

When he wanders out of the tunnel, candlestick burning bright in the dark, it doesn't take as much time to find Hunk's shop as he thinks it will.

And Hunk is there, welding hot iron pieces together before he hammers it flat against his anvil. Keith watches, a bit down the street, as he wipes sweat from his brow. It takes a moment for him to notice, but Hunk must have shed his shirt from the heat, and was in nothing but an oil-stained apron and a pair of trousers.

Keith wipes the smile from his lips before it can start. No need to start being creepy.

As he steps forward, he clears his throat. "Still open?"

Hunk mumbles something, lost in his work for only a fraction of a second longer until he glances up. He startles when he takes in the familiar person, and it's almost like the sun parting through the clouds when Keith watches the grin grow across his lips. "It's— You!"

Hunk slips his apron off, wiping more sweat from his neck with it before he tosses it to the side and crowds into Keith's space.

Suddenly, Keith finds himself surrounded in what is probably the warmest hug that he's ever felt in his entire life. Strong arms squeeze him firmly enough that he's lifted onto the tips of his toes, and he can't help but lean his head against the curve of Hunk's neck, lips grazing against his collarbone.

He lets his eyes drift shut, lest he start tearing up at the sudden swarm of vulnerability that floods his chest. He'd never felt so safe before.

Hunk pulls back, though he stays close enough to keep Keith's hands in his grip. "You're back." He marvels, softly.

Keith laughs, shrugging a shoulder. "I can't stay for long, but..."

Hunk reaches up to smooth the forelocks of Keith's hair from his face, and Keith lets his eyes flutter shut again. "I wanted to see you."

"I wanted to see you, too. What happened?"

"Huh?"

Keith takes a step back, self-conscious all of a sudden. Hunk only gives him another smile and motions to his hair. "You look like you got into a fight, or something. Is everything alright?"

"Oh!" Keith ties to rake his fingers through his hair again, but it gets caught on the hair tie at the nape of his neck. "I... lost my comb the other day. I haven't had time to find a new one, yet."

And then, somehow without him even realizing it, Keith finds himself out in the forest again. Hunk leads him, their hands still entwined, to a little pond that's out of the way. Keith falls in love with it almost as fast as he fell for Hunk.

They sit, and Hunk produces from his back pocket a beautiful comb.

He'd, unfortunately, replaced his shirt and the fabric brushes against Keith's face when he reaches forward to survey the damage. "Would it be alright if I helped you?"

"Please do." Keith murmurs, allowing Hunk to lead him to the very edge of the pool so that they can sit. The waterfall soon merges into the background, and Keith helps Hunk to section his too long, too thick hair into manageable pieces.

Gentle fingers probe his scalp as Hunk gets to work, and soon the latter is humming a gentle song as they get into the groove of things.

"I'm glad you're back." Hunk says. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left, all suddenly like that."

Keith bites his lip, though Hunk can't see it. "I'm sorry about that. Time really got away from me."

"You had a prior engagement?" Hunk jokes, combing through the tangled ends the rested in his lap. "What were you up to?"

Keith grimaces. He must stay long for a suspicious amount of time, because Hunk quickly continues on, "You don't have to share, of course. I've always been a bit too curious."

At that, Keith laughs. "You seem like the type." He says, not unkindly. "No, it's fine... I just had to head home. My— uh..." He stumbles over the next word as it clogs his throat, but eventually forces out, "'Family' worries about me when I'm out late."

"Oh? You would think they would let you explore the kingdom during your visit."

Even Keith knows that his laugh is dry. "You would think."

They fall into a companionable silence, then. Whenever Hunk breaches uncomfortable territory, they are still able to round it back to something enjoyable as he fixes up Keith's hair.

When he finishes, he surprises Keith with a ribbon. "I'd like to give this to you." He says, face red. "It's... been in my family for a while— but my hair has never really been long enough for it to get any good use." He confesses, gesturing to his hair that has been shaved up to the ear and then braided out of the way. "Too dangerous around fire for something so long— like yours."

Keith eagerly turns, presenting his hair to Hunk again. Hunk gives it one last comb through before he ties the headband, golden yellow like a sunflower, around the thick of it. "I'll take care of it until I can get it back to you."

When Keith turns back to him, Hunk is grinning. "No need. It's a gift." Then, he lifts Keith's hand and gives it a firm squeeze. "It's yours now."

"Hunk— I can't. It's too precious for me." Keith reaches back to touch it, but Hunk captures his other hand, too, and pulls both of them to his lips so that he can press gentle kisses against the back of each.

"Not precious enough, in my opinion." He says, and it's much too romantic for Keith's heart to take. He yanks his hands back to press them against his chest, but he's not able to do much more than stare, wide-eyed.

Hunk only smiles at him, cross-legged and _enamored_. Keith can't stand it.

He changes the subject, stuttering over his own tongue the entire time. "Do you... know anything about knives?" He asks, patting around his belt until he can produce his own. "Like this one?"

Hunk doesn't seem much offended by the change of pace, and instead takes the knife against his palm and holds it to the waning light that Keith is sure to keep a careful eye on today.

He stays silent for a long time, and Keith edges closer to watch him squint at the metal.

"I can't say that I've ever seen this material before. The detailing is so high-quality— I doubt you'll find anything like it in this kingdom. From our enemy's kingdom— maybe." Hunk winces, handing the knife back. "I'm more of a _big_ sword maker than for something as fine as this."

Keith's shoulders drop as he fingers the engravings. "Ah. No, it's fine... I was just curious, I guess."

"Your mother and father don't know where it's from?" Hunk asks, rolling over so that he's laying in the grass, but still turned to face Keith.

"I've never met them." Keith says, holding the knife up like Hunk had. "I only just found this, uh... in the basement of my house."

Hunk gives him a sympathetic nod. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He mumbles, but it's hard to mask the disappointment. "Thanks, anyway."

Hunk watches him, eyes highlighted perfectly by the sun. A butterfly wanders over, encouraged by the breeze, and Keith marvels at it when it lands against his knee. He holds his hand out to it, and the insect flitters nervously only to land at the very tip and rest there, wings spreading for balance. It's made of such beautiful colors that Keith feels inspired to find it again someday to paint it. 

"Would you like to go to the ball with me?"

Keith jumps, and the butterfly heads back the way it came. He tilts his head down towards Hunk. "What ball?"

"For the Prince's birthday tomorrow."

Keith sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. "I... would love to." And, before Hunk can get too encouraged, "But, I'm not sure if I'll be able."

Hunk sits up anyway, excitement thrumming through his veins. "Well, if you can... I would love to see you there." He holds his hand out, and Keith hesitantly brushes his fingers against Hunk's calloused palm. Their fingers slot together perfectly. "I'll keep a look out for you." 

"Oh?"

"You'll be easy to spot." Hunk teases, tucking a bit of escaped hair back into place. "With your hair."

Keith graces him with a playful grin, rolling over onto his knees to sit taller. "We'll just have to see about that."

Hunk throws a handful of clovers at him, causing him to splutter as they smack directly against his lips. The two burst out laughing, heads thrown back as they catch the encroaching moonlight.

“Maybe you can tell me your name there.” Hunk says, and this time Keith initiates contact first. He reaches for Hunk’s fingers, letting them tangle with his own.

“Maybe.” He echoes back.

 

\---

 

Keith leaves Hunk with a singing heart and buzzing fingertips. Every time he clenches them, he swears he can feel Hunk holding them tight and kissing them all over. It takes every bit of self-control not to jump around and click his heels together as he serves dinner.

He's not oblivious, though, to the way Zarkon gives him an intense stare as he ladles out the soup or carves the chicken. He does his best to seem as complacent as possible, bowing his head low out of respect.

That doesn't stop him from sneaking back down to the basement after dinner and snatching up the dress he hasn't been able to stop thinking of.

He doesn't own anything nice to wear— especially not for a ball— and both Zarkon and Lotor's clothing would be too easily missed. Hunk would probably like the dress more, anyway.

When he makes it back to his room, he leans against the wall and hugs the dress tight as he gives a lovestruck sigh.

Quickly, he hides the knife under the bed before he forgets, stuffs the dress on top of his armoire to keep it out of sight, and hurries to bring out his paints. Maybe he could paint something for Hunk as a gift, before the party started.

He only gets two brushstrokes in before his door is shoved open and Zarkon strolls in.

Keith freezes, tightening his hold on his brush. The paint bleeds thicker than he wanted it to against the canvas, and he quickly dabs at it with a rainbow-stained cloth to try to get it up.

Before he can even get a word in, Zarkon rips the brush from his hand. "And where have _you_ been today?"

Keith jumps back a few paces. "I... don't know what you're talking about. Sir."

Zarkon invades his space, gripping him by the jowl with two sharp talons. "I know all that goes on in my domain, whelp."

His voice echoes in Keith ears so loud that's in painful. Keith yelps as his head is ripped back by his hair, only to cut it off with a gasp as the ribbon Hunk had given him— the one he'd been so stupid as to forget he was wearing— falls to the floor in tatters. "Where have you _been_?" Zarkon questions, tightening his grip hard enough that his nails cut Keith's skin.

Just as suddenly as he's grabbed, he's released. Keith stumbles back, until he hits the wall.

"I..."

Zarkon narrows his eyes, and it's no illusion when vapors of purple cloud across them. When Keith fails to respond, he tilts his head up. Very well."

He paces the room, "You see, mutt... You _belong_ to me. No master should ever allow his pet to do what it wants." He stops in front of the barely started painting, scraping his claws against the edges. "After all— you could get hurt."

Then, he waves his hand and the entire thing— his paints, his _easel_ — is reduced to nothing but torn canvas and splinters, echoes of magic whispering away as they clatter to the floor.

"No!" Keith rushes forward, crashing onto his knees as if he can salvage the pieces. He's grabbed by his hair again and yanked a few feet away, until he's thrown against the stone. His ears ring upon impact, and the breath is shoved out of his lungs as Zarkon presses his foot against Keith's chest.

"You're getting a bit _too_ comfortable here."

In Zarkon's palm lays Keith's paintbrush.

Keith tries to grab it, scratching and clawing at Zarkon's leg like an angry cat would when given a bath.

All it takes is a flex of his fingers for the brush to be reduced to sawdust, too. It sprinkles down into Keith's eyes, and he cries out as Zarkon scrapes his foot from Keith's person and back to the floor.

"You will _not_ leave this tower ever again." Zarkon growls, dropping his arms again to hide them behind his cape, as if they'd never moved.

As he heads to the door, Keith scrubs the searing hot tears from his face and rolls over, his other hand soothing the blunt pain in his ribs. "And who's going to do your _chores_? Who's going to be your servant for the rest of your life?" He spits, barely able to breathe enough to get the words out.

Zarkon tilts his head up, and Keith slides back across the floor when those unnatural eyes turn to him again.

It's then that Keith notices Lotor, hanging in the doorway. He looks out of breath, as if he'd run all the way up the stairs at the commotion. He doesn't say a word, though, until Zarkon steps forward again. "Father."

"There is no need for you here, Lotor. Leave me."

Pulsating energy surrounds his palm as he stalks towards Keith, and, for once in his life, Keith doesn't know how he's going to get out of this situation. Not alive, anyway.

" _Father_." Lotor stomps into the room. "We need him. You can't bargain without giving proof that you _have_ the prize."

Zarkon stops just above Keith's head. His aura is too intense for Keith to look at directly, but he tries anyway, even as the tears spill down his cheeks before he can stop them.

"I didn't do anything wrong." He says, through clenched teeth.

The pain that courses through him next is so excruciating that he blacks out. When he comes to, he's slumped against the floor and Lotor and Zarkon are yelling above his head. Every muscle in his body feels as though it had been gripped by bony fingers and tugged on like a harp for days, and he's so sluggish that he can't even twitch when Zarkon lifts him by his elbow.

His feet drag underneath him until Zarkon tosses him on his front, in the middle of the room. Their words are nothing but mumbled garbage, but he hears enough to piece together that they need some sort of proof that they have what they say they have.

That they have _him_.

He's grabbed by his hair,— and really, it's getting old— head wrenching backwards so far that his neck pops. Weakly, he's able to get his hands underneath him enough that he can hold his weight up.

Then, with a sharp sound, his hair is cut clean off. It barely brushes past his shoulders as it falls back in place, compared to where it used to almost drag on the ground when he didn't tie it up.

He's too in shock to do anything as Zarkon takes his leave, Lotor hot on his heels with only a backwards glance.

His hands shake when they reach up for his hair, and— when he pulls his hand back and sees splinters of wood from his paintbrush, too— it's too much to handle. His sob comes out choked, muffled as he curls in on himself.

He hears an incantation whispered on the wind and when he looks up, his door is gone, too.

 

\---

 

The next morning, Keith stares at himself in the mirror. He looks haggard, eyes swollen both top and bottom, and his hair is choppily framing his face. It's the worst of it all, and that's including the boot-shaped bruise imprinted on his ribcage.

He can't stop himself from touching the ends. It's so foreign to be able to reach them without having to bend over and gather them up from his feet. He's not sure that he likes it. Especially given the circumstances.

His clothes have been replaced by the dress he'd stolen, and it fits him almost perfectly. It's obviously made for someone who has more chest than he does, but he was able to pin it in place anyway, with a needle or two. It's probably the one thing he has left to bring him comfort.

His art supplies lay in a pile at his feet— a sad mess that accurately represents the state of him at the moment. The yellow ribbon gifted to him is sprinkled across the floor, and his eyes catch on the bits every time he looks down. He’d tried to gather up as much as he could, but they were so silky and tiny that they slipped right through his fingers.

Every time he looks at it, he's filled with a terrifying combination of rage and deep, aching sadness.

He'll probably die in this tower, and he won't even be able to paint a picture of it.

With a sigh, he moves from the mirror to his window. The birds are all gone, now. Not a one even chirps in the distance.

His tower is higher in the air that it's ever been, probably from that spell Zarkon cast. He can see over the treeline, now.

In the distance, he sees a kingdom. He tries not to stare at it because he knows if he does, he'll want to throw himself out the window. Not that he could, but he would probably try anyway.

The pink painted bricks, so similar to the picture he'd painted before this mess started, will make him start thinking. He doesn't want to piece together the unspoken— that those walls, closer than he'd ever dreamed them being— are the ones he was stolen from in the first place.

He doesn't want to think about the implications of the fight last night— that there are people who are looking for him and demanding proof that he's still _alive_.

He doesn't want to think about Hunk, either. Because if he thinks about Hunk, then he'll think about how he'll never get to see him again— will never get to feel his arms wrapped tight around him again.

His hand drifts to his hair once more.

He'll never see if Hunk likes him with short hair, or not.

A sigh shudders through him, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut in order to get a grip on himself. He hasn't cried this much since he'd been born, it seems.

Keith slides down the wall, forcing himself to calm down. A lump forms in his throat as the tears catch at the edge of his eyelashes, and he scrubs them away so hard that his eyes feel raw.

He crawls towards his bed, patting around the wooden slats until he finds where he hid his knife. It's probably the only thing that will comfort him ever again.

But, when he pulls it out, the blade has been replaced with something skinny and long, and the end tickles his fingers.

A paintbrush stares back at him as he sits up, and promptly he drops it on the bed in order to pace. It's the same color as his knife— everything but the bristles are of the same material as his pommel, even.

"I'm losing it." He murmurs to himself, dropping onto the bed to scoop it up again.

It's a beautiful brush. Versatile enough for both thin and thick strokes, and it looks like it would hold plenty of paint with one swipe. He's eager to use it, until the prior events come crashing back into him.

The only paint he has is splattered against the stone and seeped into the cracks.

But Keith stands nonetheless, shoulders set. He'd be able to paint something beautiful with it, anyway.

 

\---

 

"Lookin' good, big guy." Lance says, helping him tuck his ascot securely beneath his collar. Hunk is dressed in a shade of pale yellow, hair slicked back and out of it's usual braid.

He nervously brushes his hands over his freshly shaved edges, and again realizes why Shiro likes to shave _his_ so much. It's incredibly soft beneath his touch, when he rubs in the right direction.

"You know... I can't wait to meet whoever it is that has you all hooked." Said Shiro teases as he passes, bending over as Lance reaches for his own outfit. His collar is smoothed out, and he rolls his eyes as Lance makes him twirl so that he can see the entire ensemble.

Pidge pokes her head in, eyes covered. "Are you _ready_ yet?"

"We're decent, if that's what you're asking." Lance mumbles, focused on picking a tiny speck of lint from Hunk's cuffs. His voice hitches with laughter when Pidge passes, tickling his sides.

All four of them sport similar outfits— plain outercoats and pants of their preferred colors, with a lighter colored shirt underneath. Lance insisted it was to show his support to the Prince (who only fondly rolled his eyes at the notion) but they all knew he just loved to coordinate outfits.

Hunk studied himself in the mirror. He wondered idly if Keith would wear anything that would be able to vaguely match his own outfit, but that didn't matter much if Keith didn't actually show. It was probably the one thing he was nervous about that night.

"Do we really have to wear these all day?" Pidge gripes, fanning herself with her fingers. They can already see her sweating underneath the gear. "What kind of show are you running, Shirogane?"

Shiro startles at the use of his full name, laughing a beat later.

"Nervous?" Lance asks, pressing his elbow into Hunk's side as the other two get distracted. "You asked him out, right?"

"I did. I don't know if he'll be able to come." Hunk vaguely waves his hand around. "Family issues, I think?"

Lance only gives a grimace. "Well... his loss, if not. But you'd better save a dance for me, whether he shows or not."

Hunk grins. "Of course, Sir Lance. I wouldn't dream of dancing with another."

The festivities were expected to last the entire night, and even to the early sunlight if it went well enough. It was barely encroaching noon, though, and Hunk knew that meant hours of him anxiously skirting the kingdom as he searched for a coiffure of gorgeous black hair.

A knock on the door interrupts them, and a guard steps in to inform them that the King requests Shiro's presence.

His lips thin into a grimace, and the conversation dies with that. He leaves them with a cautious nod, ruffling Lance's hair as he passes just to restore the mood.

 

\---

 

He's led to the throne room, as usual. Waiting near one of the windows, stained brilliantly in red and blues and yellows, is the King himself.

Kolivan turns to regard him and the guard as they enter, and the guard hurries to excuse himself.

"You called for me, sir?"

"You may call me Kolivan." The King reminds, as he always does. Shiro only shrugs a shoulder at him, though he follows after as Kolivan begins to walk.

"Today," He begins, "may be very dangerous for you. More people than expected have caught wind of our little party and..."

"We might get attacked." Shiro finishes for him. "I'll be ready for anything, sir. I've already asked the guards to double the men in the throne room."

Kolivan nods his head, and once again Shiro notices how tired he is. He presses his palm to his mouth as he surveys the people walking the streets, but his eyes are weighed down by the bags they sport. That permanent sadness at the back of his eye never helps, either.

"You've learned well, Shirogane." Kolivan says, and Shiro wonders if using his proper name is going to be a running theme today. "Try to stay close to as many guards as you can. The kingdom can't lose another Prince."

Then, Kolivan sighs. He leans against the ledge of a window and hangs his head, but Shiro stays a respectful distance away. They didn't know each other very well, no matter what their status was.

"The kingdom can't lose _another_ Prince." He repeats to himself.

Shiro hooks his hands behind his back— a nervous habit he'd developed when training with the guards. "Your son didn't deserve it, sir."

Kolivan shakes his head. "I'd hardly call him my son." He quips, standing back. When he catches sight of Shiro's dubiously confused look, a rare smile graces his lips. "May I tell you a story, Shiro?"

Kolivan leads them back to the throne room, and he motions for Shiro to sit beside him as he sits in his rightful place. Kolivan's leg, injured shortly before the Prince had been kidnapped, creaks when he plops down, and a weary sigh is pulled from him at the painful lurch.

"He was never my son." Kolivan confesses, suddenly and clear. "I merely took him as my own— as a favor to a dear friend."

He leans against one of the armrests, lost in a memory. "A favor to _two_ friends. His real parents, and the rightful heirs to the throne. The only reason why _I_ sit in their shadows now, is because they asked me to."

Shiro swallows heavily. "What happened to them?" Then, belatedly, "Uh... sir."

Kolivan gives him a fond look. "They were killed. It was covered up by most of the court, but it happened shortly after Keith was born."

"Keith?"

"The prince." Kolivan looks away, and his hand shakes. "It's a shameful part of my history that I was unable to protect him, as they begged me to."

An uncomfortable knot twines in Shiro's stomach, caught between confusion and wanting to comfort his old friend.

Kolivan passes over the sadness quickly, nonetheless. He sits up straight, smoothing out his robes. "Nonetheless, now that _you_ are next in line, I feel you deserve to know the truth. Perhaps he'll come back someday, to relieve you of the burden."

Shiro nods his head, quickly standing as Kolivan stands. "I... understand, sir."

It's obvious to Kolivan that he doesn't, but he must appreciate the sentiment anyway, because he presses his palm against Shiro's shoulder and nods his head. "Go. Enjoy your party."

Shiro hesitates for a moment, but when Kolivan ushers him down the steps, he strides with purpose.

He has a lot to stew over, and the pieces are clicking into place slower than he would prefer.

 

\---

 

It takes hours for Keith to gather all the paint he needs. He scrapes his fingernails around every exposed bit of his exploded paint tubes as he can until his fingertips are stained.

He definitely doesn't have enough paint for an entire composition, but it'll have to be enough.

He grabs his new paintbrush, squeezing it tight in his palm as he dips it in a swatch of pink.

When he presses the bristles against the linen of his bedsheets, the color bleeds out like water and etches exactly what he envisioned without him even willing it to. He's so startled that he drops the brush, and where the paint splatters, more of the still-life is painted right before his eyes.

With an incredulous, high-pitched squeak, he lifts the bedsheet up to the light.

When he does, a butterfly slips through it. It nearly collides with Keith's face, and he drops the sheet to watch it aimlessly drift around his room, now trapped just as he was in his tower.

A magic portal. And he'd _accidentally_ painted one.

His laugh comes out much more hysterical than he means it to, but he doesn't have time to worry about how crazed he sounds.

Instead, he rolls up his sleeves and shoves his hand through the sheet. What he feels on the other side is a cool breeze, so much more satisfying than the stale air he was trapped with in the tower.

Keith grabs his paintbrush. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to come back for it once he slips through, and he refuses to let this gift go.

As an afterthought, he sneaks up on the butterfly and tosses the sheet over it, to teleport it back where it belongs. No one deserved to be trapped in the tower, insect or not.

Keith smooths the sheet out on top of his bed, tucking his paintbrush behind his ear. When he looks out the window, the sun is just beginning to set. For once, he didn't worry about Zarkon coming home earlier than expected.

He shoves the rest of himself through without another second of hesitation, and soon finds himself faceplanting in soft grass and heavy dirt.

He spits out the grass blades as he sits up, brushing dirt from his cheeks. It takes a moment for him to gather where he is, but the familiar sound of a waterfall in the distance tells him that he _is_ in the kingdom.

He stands, hurriedly reaching for his paintbrush to ensure it survived the journey.

The smooth texture under his touch floods him with comfort, and he heaves a sigh as he takes in his surroundings.

It looked like a garden, encased in tall walls. Each had a number of windows, and opened up to long corridors that sported impressive paintings.

When he crosses through an archway to study the portraits in detail, someone steps into the hall adjacent to him. They catch eyes, and Keith gathers his skirt as the person draws their sword with a sharp yell of, "Intruder!"

He runs, of course. He didn't escape his tower just to get run through by a blade, after all.

They run him down long hallways, and more and more feet join in the stampede at Keith's back. Keith lunges towards the right, and comes face to face with huge doors that have him straining to shove them open.

He narrowly dodges an arrow aimed right for his head, and ducks into the ballroom just in time. 

Shiro's head jerks up at the sound of shouting, a few minutes later. He apologetically bows his head to some royal or another he was speaking to before he stalks off, catching Pidge by the shoulder as the latter dashes past. "What's going on?"

"An intruder just slipped past the guards and is heading towards the maze." She says, gesturing in the direction Shiro came. "I was going to warn the King, in case..." Then, she makes a slicing motion across her neck with a grimace.

Shiro ushers her along. "Be careful."

"You too."

They dash off in opposite directions, and Shiro gathers his sword along the way.

 

\---

 

Hunk finds himself sitting on a bench outside of the castle walls, running his fingers across the cut-off thorns of a rose he'd purchased for Keith. Even if it wasn't guaranteed that the other would be able to make the party, he wanted to be prepared anyway.

He sighs and tucks it into his breast pocket, siting up straight to watch the birds as they fly across the maze.

"Looking for someone?"

Lance appears beside him, offering him a goblet of wine.

"Mm. Just being anxious." Hunk, though he doesn't usually drink, takes the offered alcohol anyway. He takes a sip of it, only to grimace at the strong taste.

Lance laughs at him, tossing an arm around his shoulder. "Maybe parties aren't his style. I'm sure that wasn't the last you'll ever see of the guy."

Hunk shrugs, nearly jostling Lance's arm off. "I suppose."

Lance's face falls as he takes in the crestfallen way Hunk holds himself, and he leans over to get a good look at him. "Hey. A party is no place to have such a droopy face."

Hunk snorts, sitting up straighter before Lance ends up sprawled across the ground trying to get a look at him. "That rhymed."

"I'm learning the pan flute for a reason, my friend." Lance says, snapping his fingers. Neither mention that one can't exactly sing a song while playing a woodwind.

Yelling startles them out of their rising mood, from across the way. A figure bursts out of the slightly ajar doors and looks around in a panic before their eyes settle on the two of them.

Lance jumps up, tugging Hunk along with him, and even from such a long distance away, they can see the newcomer squint and mouth Hunk's name.

"Is that...?" Hunk takes a few steps forward, but guards burst out and grab Keith by his shoulders before they can start a heartfelt reunion. "Hey!"

Hunk dashes forward, Lance close behind, as the guards force Keith to the ground. He shoves them away, though he is wary of the dangerously sharp swords that point at him (ones he'd made, even!) as he bends over to form a protective barrier between them and Keith. "What's going on here?"

Lance steps in front of Hunk, hands held up as nonthreateningly as possible. "I think there's just a big misunderstanding here. This guy is a _friend_."

"He's a suspicious person, and _will_ be taken in for questioning." One of the royal guards states, and Lance shoots Keith an incredulous look.

"Gone for one day and now he's an enemy of the King." He mumbles under his breath, and Keith shoots him a glare.

He's distracted, though, when familiar fingers brush across the nape of his neck and feel the choppy edges of his hair. "What happened this time?" Hunk murmurs, close enough that his voice washes over Keith like a wave of calm.

"It's... complicated." Keith whispers back.

The guards advance closer at the sound of his voice, and Keith brandishes his paintbrush as if it were the knife it used to be.

Shiro bursts between them at that moment, his own sword pointed high in the air. Lance drops his hands with a loud groan, but he does relax as the guards step back.

Before he can get into actually arresting Keith, Hunk jumps up. "Shiro! This is... my _friend_. The one I was telling you about."

"Your— oh." Shiro drops his sword. He doesn't put it away, and Hunk can tell by the pinched way his eyebrows look that his suspicions have only shot higher.

Hunk helps Keith to stand, and he gets distracted wiping a mix of paint and grass from Keith's jaw. At the tender touch, Keith's eyes flutter shut.

"You look familiar." Shiro mumbles aloud, and Keith shrugs a shoulder.

"It's the hair." 

Shiro eventually convinces the guards to leave them be. It's clear that, even if he doesn't trust the guy, Keith is no match against Shiro. He's half-limping from a cramp in his side from running too hard, completely out of breath, and emotionally exhausted.

"Tell the King that there's no threat here." He orders as they shamble off.

Hunk leads Keith over to the benches, and Keith all but collapses against it. Lance catches eyes with Hunk over Keith's head, and the former gives him a wink as he hooks his arm in Shiro's. "Well... we'll let you two get caught up. Looks like this one here traveled a long way to see you." He says, motioning towards Keith.

Then, in a loud whisper to Keith, "You're not off the hook yet. Shiro'll kick your ass if you try anything."

And, even if the tone is playful, Keith gives him a serious nod. "I won't."

Hunk shoos them off before they can cause any more trouble. Shiro watches them over his shoulder as he's pulled back into the party, but Lance will probably handle that for Hunk just fine.

Instead, he focuses all of his attention on Keith. He gathers him up, palms pressing against his jowl to survey the damage. He has a few scratches here and there, and wood dust is thoroughly tangled in his hair.

"I'm glad to see you." Hunk mumbles nonetheless.

"I missed you." Keith confesses in turn. "Wasn't sure if I'd make it here."

"I can tell." Hunk can't help but laugh, thumbs rubbing out even more paint that stains his cheeks blue. "You look like you've been in a fight."

At Keith's suspicious silence, Hunk's gaze turns serious and his smile disappears faster than the sun at dusk. "What happened?" He asks again, hands dropping to Keith's shoulders.

And so, Keith explains everything. He explains how his 'family' is no family at all, how his home is a prison. He explained his paints, and how they got destroyed. He explains the magic he stumbled upon.

When he mentions the paintbrush, Hunk's eyes zero in on where it sits, tucked behind Keith's ear again.

"Your _knife_ turned into a _paintbrush_. Of all things?"

"I like painting." Keith says, a touch defensive.

And Hunk laughs. It's honest and startling, and Keith joins in on it after a hesitant moment.

"Well..." Hunk begins, after the moment passes. "I can't allow you to go back to that tower. Not after all you just said."

He slides closer, until their legs are pressing together. Even throughout the explanation, he couldn’t stop fingering the singed ends of Keith's hair. "He took so many special things from you. it would break my heart if he took you away from the world." Then, hesitantly soft, "From _me_."

Keith knocks his head against Hunk's, startling the latter. "I won't go back. I refuse to." Hunk wraps his arms around Keith tight, squeezing him just enough that it feels like he's piecing back together again. "But he might come to me. And I can't let him hurt you or your kingdom, either."

Hunk stays oddly quiet at that, and Keith slides his arms around Hunk in reply. He's incredibly warm beneath all those layers, and the ascot is soft when it presses against his chin as he looks up at him.

He seems to be struggling with words, but when he looks Keith in the eye, he can see just how much worry whirls around in them.

"I'll be fine." Keith says as he pulls away. "Tonight isn't about this. Let's... let's dance. I've never danced before."

" _Really_?" Then, realizing that no, Keith probably would have never gotten the opportunity, Hunk stands and offers his elbow to him. "Well, I'm obligated to show you the best time of your life now."

They don't head towards the ballroom. Instead, they skirt around the edges of the castle until they find a window, left ajar just enough so that they can hear the music loud and clear.

Hunk offers his hand, and Keith lets his drop in his large palm. He's gathered up, then, with one arm around his waist, and it takes a bit of ushering from Hunk for him to catch the rhythm. Keith stumbles over his own feet more than once, caught between looking down at the motions and up at Hunk's face.

In the end, Hunk lifts him just a few inches up and lets him rest on the tip of his boots so that he can dance them around without having to worry about stepping on Keith's toes. He isn't wearing shoes, after all.

They dance until the song changes twice, and Keith finds himself pressing an ear against Hunk's heart, basking in the steady beat for as long as he's allowed. Every so often, Hunk will hum to the tune and the vibrations will course straight through Keith's body, like light through a rainbow prism.

Keith was right when he'd assumed that his dress would be fun to twirl in. The fabric is kind against his skin as it flips this way and that, but Hunk’s touch against his back is even kinder.

 

\---

 

Lotor's arms cross as he watches his father throw a tantrum. He's almost afraid that he'll bring the entire tower down with a flick of his wrist, but he's also surprised when he _doesn't_. Instead, he rampages up and down the stairs atleast twice, with Lotor waiting for him at the bottom.

Keith is gone, and all the was left of him was a sheet smeared with paint.

Zarkon shoves past Lotor, who follows after him without a word.

The ransom had come back unsatisfactory, which only helped plummet Zarkon's mood from pissed to maddened. After all, they had no _proof_ that the four feet of hair belonged to who they said it did.

Lotor holds in his sigh as Zarkon storms into his office, shoving vials of ink to the floor to clear space. They shatter upon impact, soaking into the expensive bear-skin carpet.

The sheet with paint on it dangles from Lotor's fingertips from where he dragged it along, and he tosses it onto a nearby armchair.

The chair disappears, and the sheet falls flat against the floor.

And the silence that follows is enough for them to hear the faint hum of magic pulsing through it. Lotor bends down to gather it up, but Zarkon beats him to it. He clears the entire desk with a snap, and more glass shatters as he runs his hand across the magic paint.

"A portal." Zarkon tuts, and his murderous look morphs into something much more sinister. Then, to Lotor, "Leave me."

Zarkon never was the type to give away his toys so easily.

 

\---

 

Keith wiggles his toes in the warm water they were dunked in, and a pleasurable shudder runs through him as Hunk combs through his hair, picking out every piece of dirt along the way.

The sun has long ago set in the distance, and the soft light of Hunk's home is something he'd never experienced. He'd never been somewhere so cozy. It was small, with the main attraction being its wide kitchen, but it was perfect in Keith's opinion.

They sat in Hunk's bedroom, in front of a vanity as Hunk tried to warm him up. He'd offered to give Keith something more casual to wear, but Keith refused to get rid of the dress until he tired of it. The fabric was still soft, and he liked the way the color looked against his skin.

The ends were wet, though, because he kept forgetting to lift the skirt out of the bucket.

Hunk gathers his hair, combed through and picked clean, and braids it into a small bun. "There we go."

"Thank you." Keith says, a touch shyly. "I wonder if it'll ever grow back."

Hunk wets a rag and comes back to help wipe away any other layers of dirt on Keith's face. "Mm. I'm sure it will." He tilts Keith's head up, prompting him to look him in the eye. "You're still beautiful with short hair, either way."

Keith laughs, face aflame. He tilts his head into the touch, and Hunk doesn't resist gathering him in another hug that night.

When they pull apart, Keith's dress clings to Hunk's shirt from the accumulation of sticky paint across it. Hunk peels them apart with a laugh. "You really ought to let me clean this for you."

"I don't have anything else to wear." Keith runs his fingers across the cinched waist of the skirt. He's surprised that the rudimentary pen-work in the back still holds it to his chest, yet oddly proud at the same time.

"I'll lend you something." Hunk offers easily, again. "It'll be a bit big, but... can't have your dress staining."

Keith takes Hunk's offered hands to pull himself out of his stool. The ends slip back into the water, and his subsequent curse comes out muttered as he bends down to pick them back up.

Hunk greets him with a gentle kiss to the forehead when he stands straight again, and it prompts the widest eyed look Hunk had ever seen from him. Keith's fingers drift to the spot, and Hunk is sure that it's an instinctive reaction when his own smile grows ten times in size.

The soft moment is ruined by an explosion that trembles through the ground, dropping like a heavy stone in their stomach.

When Keith rushes out of the house, Hunk is hot on his heels.

 

\---

 

Across the kingdom, Shiro grips his sword so tightly that his knuckles turn white from the strain.

In front of him, Kolivan and a wizard by the name of Zarkon stalk one another in a semi-circle near the center of the ballroom. The guests had fled as soon as Zarkon blasted a spell that knocked them clear off their feet, screaming as they went.

Almost as soon as they disappeared, the doors slammed shut with a gesture from the spellbearer, probably locking for good measure.

On the opposite side of Shiro is Lotor. He matches Shiro's defensive pose, but doesn't even attempt to make the first move. On the contrary, he hardly spares Shiro a glance as he watches the proceedings between his father and the king, but Shiro doesn't drop his guard.

"What do you want?" He asks, taking a step forward. Lotor takes a matching one back, sidestepping towards his father.

He's ignored as Zarkon blasts a spell towards Kolivan. The king is able to dodge, though the edge of his sleeve gets singed from the close call.

On the other side of the door, all the way across the room, Hunk and Keith stumble across Pidge and Lance.

"What's going on?" Hunk asks, shooing Pidge out of the way to take her place in breaking down the door. He grunts as he jabs his shoulder against it, but the thing barely budges even when Lance joins in, too, abandoning his quest in picking the lock.

"Some magic wizard burst in and scared everyone off." Pidge gripes, stepping back to nurse her aching shoulder. "But we saw him pick a fight with the King before we got swept away, too."

"And Shiro's still in there. He's gonna need our help." Lance adds, smacking his hands against the thick door in frustration.

Keith tries not to let his panic overwhelm him. Even having been locked in a tower, he's sure being a magic-user is rare— and he definitely knows of two off of the top of his head.

He catches Hunk's arm before he can slam himself against the door again. "I have a plan."

Lance shoots Hunk a look that doesn't go past Keith's notice, but he doesn't mention. Instead, he squares his shoulders. "I need you to trust me."

And, well... Hunk would never argue with someone who had such a resolute look on their face even if he wanted to.

 

\---

 

"Remember: in the hedge maze, at the very first dead end—"

"— while following the left wall. We got it." Lance huffs, voice strained as he balances Keith on his shoulders. He steps to the left as Keith reaches for the pried open window, nearly slipping on the flowerbeds in the process.

They'd gone over the extremely rudimentary plan only once, but Lance understood it enough to get the gist of what Keith wanted to do. Lure Zarkon into the maze, have Keith paint a door, and leave the rest up to fate. Though, he didn't understand how exactly a painting would help, he trusted Hunk's judgement, if no one else's. 

Hunk, who had been sent on a journey to find any bucket of paint he could find.

"One color is fine." Keith had said. "The magic will do the rest."

Keith catches himself on the lip of the window, and Lance shoves him up a few inches further by the soles of his feet. He claws his way in, mooning anyone who just happened to look at that exact window, but he was much past the point of modesty. Not when an entire kingdom was at stake.

When he dangles from the other side, he gives his signal in the form of a sharp whistle. Lance knocks on the stone from the other side in reply, and it dully echoes through the brick.

His fingers slip against the cold tile, and he only barely catches himself with the thick curtains that border the window from the inside. They're so long that he's able to slide down them like an emergency rope, kicking his feet only a few times to swing himself towards the carpet for a softer landing.

When he catches his balance, and turns, he is legitimately surprised that no one noticed his entrance. He hides behind a nearby throne to take stock of the situation, hand reaching up to ensure that his paintbrush is still firmly tucked behind his ear.

Zarkon assaults Kolivan with a barrage of magic that corners him further away than Keith would have preferred. But it does leave him with only one enemy to deal with instead of two at the same time, if he can take Lotor out fast enough.

When Lotor's back is to him, Keith sneaks out from behind the throne. He sees Shiro's eyes widen a fraction at the sight of him again, and, when Lotor's eyes take a glance back at him, Keith dives for both of them.

The swords go flying as they tumble into a six-limbed mess. It's a wonder none of them get impaled.

Shiro hits the ground first, at the very bottom of the fray. He manages to slip away as Keith grapples with Lotor, arm curling around his neck and staying there as tight as Keith can get it.

When he gets his legs back under him, Shiro has already got the swords gathered. He's just pointed one of them at Lotor's neck when the latter goes slack in Keith's hold. "Wait. I concede."

"Don't let him go." Shiro orders, tone sharp.

Lotor's sneering laugh is sharper with the split lip that spreads blood across his teeth. "I'd rethink that tone if I were you." He singsongs. "Especially in the presence of the lost prince."

An electrifying current of energy strays dangerously close to them, and Keith is forced to lunge away from Lotor or risk having a seared face to go along with his singed hair.

When Zarkon refocuses on his fight with Kolivan, which has come to quite the stalemate in the background, Keith turns to find Lotor standing with his hands held where they can see them, posture relaxing.

Shiro stills has the sword pointed at him, though. "Explain yourself."

"I thought I was quite clear." Lotor muses, "And as much as I would love to repeat myself over and over again, I don't believe your King has that much time against my father."

He turns to Keith, completely disregarding Shiro. Keith's fists tighten, but he stands tall as Lotor just barely bows his head in his direction. "Keith."

"Lotor."

"I assume you have a plan." Lotor says, arms dropping to cross at his front. "I assure you, mine is better."

 

\---

 

A blast of power bursts clear through the thick stone of the castle walls. Keith sprints out of the consequential hole a moment later, getting turned around only for a few seconds before he dashes towards the hedge maze.

Pidge is waiting for him at the entrance, hopping up and down to catch his attention.

"I need you to distract Zarkon." He says as soon as he's close enough to grab her and drag her down the right side instead of the left. "I have a new plan."

"Excuse me? How am I supposed to bait someone who can blast me from thirty yards?"

Keith pulls her off to the side, hiding them enough in the shadows that Zarkon glides right past them. From beneath his dress, he pulls out tangled hair that he holds up to her. She doesn't even want to know where he got it from.  "You can do it.  I don't know you well— but you seem like a quick thinker."

Her frown doesn't go away at the compliment, but she does eye his hair. After a moment, she heaves a sigh and shakes her head. "Fine. What's the plan?"

"Lead him around for as long as you can. I'll have one of the others signal you to come back when I finish the portal back to the tower."

As he speaks, he ties Pidge's hair back to slot his above hers, the thickness of it hiding most of her back. Lotor had assured him that Zarkon wouldn't even notice the change in length— as overcome with anger he was.

Keith could pick through the unspoken words enough that Lotor was bothered by his father's sudden craze, so much so that he was siding with 'the enemy'.

He secures the makeshift wig with the tie from his bodice, raking his fingers through it to even out the strands. "I have a... friend who can make him go away for good."

She grumbles, scratching at the edges that tickle her face. "Wait— tower?"

"It's a long story." He says dismissively, peeking around a corner to ensure the coast is clear. "It's better than my last plan. We just have to take him by surprise."

Then, he holds his hand out to her. "You're the only one who can trick him while I'm busy."

When she grabs onto his hand, she can only agree. They have a similar enough build that if she keeps far enough away, he won't even notice— especially with the curtain of hair hiding her clothes. Not to mention that she was the closest in skin tone to him out of everyone.

And, well... it wasn't often that someone entrusted her with a task like this. She was generally too tiny— and the kingdom was generally too peaceful. It was kind of exciting.

She stood up as tall as she could, eyes sparkling. "Got it. Send Lance to find me when you're ready. I know his signals the best."

"Good luck."

 

\---

 

Keith stared down at the bucket, sticking a finger in until sticky pudding clung to his skin as far as his knuckle. He shot Hunk an incredulous look, which was met by a very sheepish one.

"I... couldn't find any paint. I figured, since it was magic and all, it would be close enough."

Lance snorts from behind them, quickly looking away when the both of them stare back at him.

Keith licks his finger clean and kneels onto the gravel. "This'll do fine. Thank you, Hunk."

In front of him was a rudimentary door that Lance had found for them, hooked to the wall of the maze. The plan was to have Pidge run through to the entrance, and they would slam the door in Zarkon's face before he could make it through.

It had many... many holes in it— especially if Pidge couldn't make it back. Or Zarkon was too fast. Or Lotor couldn't keep up his end of the deal, of sealing the tower so that Zarkon can never make it out again.

Anxiety coils in his gut like a garden snake. There was so much pressure building over his head that he kind of wanted to faint, but one glance back at Hunk leaning over him was enough to calm him. He offered a hesitant smile, and Hunk gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

He dips his paintbrush into the pale brown pudding and has to resist tasting it again. Instead, he takes a steadying breath and focuses on imagining the tower as clearly as he can. His eyes stay clenched shut as he presses the bristles against the door, and he doesn't need to open them to know that it worked by the way Hunk and Lance breathlessly gasp behind him.

When he opens his eyes, he sees the exact tower he'd escaped from, as if viewed from a long distance away. Despite the memories he has associated with it, a wave of nostalgia blasts through him.

He shakes it off of him, ripping it away like a leech attached to his heart.

When he presses his hand against the door, it goes straight through. Pudding drips onto his toes, and it only adds to the absurdity of the situation. He turns back to the other two with a grin.

"Ready."

As Keith stands, Hunk and Lance share another one of those looks that Keith never really understood. They clasp hands, knocking their heads together, and Lance shoots him a self-confident smirk before he heads off to do his job.

It all came down to if Lotor was able to bind the tower in time, but Keith had a feeling in his gut that he wouldn't be disappointed.

Hunk and Keith, in the meanwhile, move the door to the entrance of the dead end, where Hunk will hide and wait for Keith to rush through, only to slam the portal in Zarkon's face and seal him up for good.

Before Keith can turn away and meet up with the others to switch places with Pidge, Hunk intercepts him. He's pulled into another hug that drives his heart wild, and Hunk even goes as far as to kiss the side of his face, just at his temple.

"Good luck." He says, hands rising from Keith's back to his shoulders. "And be careful. Can't have you disappearing through that portal without even saying goodbye."

He's given a smile, and Keith mimics it back. "After this is done, I'll stay around for as long as I can."

Keith then shrugs Hunk's hand off his shoulder, only to gather it in his own and squeeze their palms together. He hesitantly drops his gaze, but the smile stays where it is. "As long as you _want_ me around."

Before they can get too lovey-dovey, a sharp whistle— the signal— scares them apart. Keith gives Hunk one last squeeze, an air of confidence surrounding him as he squares his shoulders. "Good luck."

 

\---

 

When Keith sees Zarkon, he's so startlingly different that Keith finds himself frozen. He's floating off the ground, and a dark mist of angry magic surrounds every one of his limbs. Whenever he passes too close to a hedge, the leaves wither and die, solving the riddle as to why the forest surrounding his castle was always so dreary.

Taking Pidge's place is easy. Lance gathers her up and pulls her down the opposite direction, hiding behind a corner with her as Keith makes sure to stall enough that Zarkon can see him going the right way.

Zarkon doesn't even pause to ponder the differing outfits.

He gives chase, playing right into their hands.

They weave back and forth through the maze, partly because Keith finds himself lost after taking a few wrong turns in a row. He's only saved by the holes Zarkon had blasted through the hedges prior to the chase, just barely able to claw his way through them.

He runs into Lotor and Shiro in the middle of the chase. Shiro gives him a thumbs up as Lotor ducks out of sight from his father, aiming an arrow at Zarkon's head to distract him so that Keith can head back the way he came.

It's an incredible group effort that fills Keith with pride at the oddest of moments— as he's dodging a swipe of Zarkon's claws and tumbling down the gravel path.

He's able to circle back, though, and Hunk is waiting for him at the entrance. As soon as he's spotted, Hunk ducks into the dead end and readies the door.

Keith pauses, forcing himself to stand steady and still so that Zarkon can get as close as possible. They don't need him turning away at the last second and putting all of their effort to waste. He gets dangerously close, enough that He can feel his veins trembling at the intense pressure of magic encroaching upon him, but he holds until Zarkon is only an arm's length away.

"Now!"

He stumbles through the passage, and Hunk slams the door so hard that it falls backwards off of its makeshift hinges and falls with a lackluster 'splat' as pudding flies into the air. All Keith sees when he turns around is the tail end of Zarkon disappearing through the barrier with a cut-off scream.

He doesn't come back through, even when they stand deathly still long enough for the others to wander back.

Hunk helps Keith to stand, giving Keith's arm a comforting squeeze when his hands tremble as he gathers his skirts.

Lotor rounds the corner, then, coming to a stop just in front of the deathly quiet scene.

They stare one another down. Shiro is close behind, and his stance is clearly defensive as he comes to the next logical step— Lotor's inevitable betrayal.

Keith minutely shakes his head as Hunk takes a protective step forward, and instead holds his head high. "I have no fight with you."

"Nor I with you." Lotor replies, easy as a summer's breeze. He glances at the portal, but moreso at the pudding that leaks heavily on the ground from the overapplication, smearing down the sides of the dropped door.

Keith had known him for years. Though they'd never been friends, Lotor was never  _too_ unjustly kind to him. But he knew how to read Lotor. He's upset, at the very least, at the loss of his father. 

"I'm sorry." Keith offers, shoulders dropping. "We... did what we had to do. I couldn't let him keep attacking the kingdom."

Lotor's arms cross, guarding himself. He gives a smile that would be disarming to anyone else but Keith. "I don't blame you. It would be hypocritical."

Keith kind of doesn't want to delve into the drama. Especially not when Hunk is hovering behind him, silently offering his support and his love. He's pleasantly warm, and he wants nothing more than to bask in it for the rest of his days, now that he _has_ time.

Lotor must be able to read him, too, because he smiles once more. Genuinely. "I have no fight with you, either." He glances at the painting again, and his eyes grow unbearably mournful. "He was a lost cause. Left me with too many loose ends to wrap up."

"Now, if you'll excuse me." Lotor turns from them, and Keith makes note of the direction. East. "I have a kingdom to run."

And he leaves. With no fanfare; no dramatics and prepared words like Keith was used to. It's probably the realest version of Lotor that he has seen and ever will see again.

"Good luck." He mumbles into the quiet, and Hunk gives his hand a firm squeeze.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. He remembers being gathered up by Hunk, squeezed so tight that his spine pops. Then, the others join in on the group hug, until a wave of overwhelming emotion that he can't exactly name crashes over him like a rising tide on a sand dune. He hides his tears against Hunk's neck, and the latter makes sure to help him wipe them away before the others can see.

He also remembers going back to the throne room, where Kolivan is nursing a few wounds and organizing the guards to set up repairs. Shiro interrupts him by striding forward and, after a brief apology, hugging him tight, too.

Then, he stands back and gestures towards Keith, murmuring soft words to the King. Kolivan inhales sharp, looking at Shiro in disbelief until the latter steps forward and speaks loud enough for them all to hear,

"Keith _is_ the missing prince."

After that, it's a lot blurrier but Keith would never admit that aloud— not when everyone was so ecstatic to have him back. Kolivan was so happy to meet him, to see that he was alive after all those years. And there was so much _hugging_. Keith couldn't get enough of the tight squeezes everyone gave to him, even if it made his heart overflow.

"It's good to have you back." Shiro says to him, hands on his shoulders. Behind them, the guards have already handled escorting the guests back into the party so that they can be soothed by their King.

"It's good to be back." Keith says, suddenly aware that _this_ was his home now. "You'll have to let me come visit you, sometime."

"Can't wait to push all the 'princely duties' on you." Shiro teases. He definitely doesn't miss the way Keith's eyes stray a bit too far to the left, over to where Lance and Pidge have Hunk distracted as they retell all of the heart-pounding moments of the night.

When Hunk lets out a loud laugh, head tilting back as Pidge mimics a scary face Zarkon must have pulled, Shiro nudges him on the shoulder.

He's ushered forward, until he's shoved right into Hunk's arms. Lance snorts, rolling his eyes, though he does take the elbow that Shiro offers him in compensation. Pidge takes up his other, and Shiro whisks them away without a fuss.

The musicians board their stage again, and soon the soft tones of a violin fill the area. It echoes just enough that it mutes Keith's scrambling brain as Hunk slowly starts to rock them from side to side with the beat. "Fancy meeting you here, Keith."

It’s the first time anyone had ever said his name like that. Like _that—_ teasing and playful and loving. His laugh comes out embarrassingly dorky, but he doesn't find himself wanting to stop it. He's much too happy.

Hunk leads him through the dance again, until their faces are flushed and they're smiling at absolutely nothing— until the rest of the party falls away and they're just two hearts bared to one another, one in a dress stained with grass at the wet ends, and the other with chocolate pudding that will never scrub out soaked into his sleeves.

"You _must_ have more questions." Keith asks between one song and the next. They've twirled their way to the outer edges of the ballroom, and Keith is so relaxed right now that he could probably fall asleep where he stands.

"Mm. Sure I do." Hunk runs a gentle hand against the curve of Keith's jaw. "I guess my biggest one was your name but… I _overheard_ it." He says, perfectly mimicking the Keith from a few days prior. He tilts Keith's head up, meeting him with a smile. "The rest can wait another day or so."

Keith allows his head to follow the gentle pressure upwards, eyes coyishly playful. When Hunk says nothing further, he quirks his lips up, too. "Is this the part where you kiss me?"

Hunk turns about as red as the fine stitching in Keith's dress, fumbling the steps. His subsequent flustered laugh is smothered as Keith gathers him up and presses a kiss straight against his lips.

It feels the exact same way about two months later, — sending a current of pleasant electricity thrumming through him, until his fingertips tingle and his heart soars— when Hunk proposes in the very pasture they'd met in. Keith, if it isn't obvious by the way he smooches Hunk silly, says yes.  

 

 

_And they lived happily ever after._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~kolivan was my exposition character but he's still Valid.~~
> 
> some backstory I couldn't squeeze in no matter how hard I tried: the reason why zarkon went "mad with power" is because his wife (haggar, as we all know and love) was poisoned by quintessence (which is a potion she'd been studying since before she met her husband). she eventually succumbs to it and zarkon is overcome with his grief. 
> 
> the quintessence had basically bled into the castle by then, though, and so it kind of preyed on his mind and literally drove him to madness. which is why he has magic, probably???? yes? yes. 
> 
> but OTHER THAN THAT... <3 thanks so much for reading this, everyone!!! i really appreciate every hit, kudo, comment, and bookmark I receive on this fic because its pretty special to me c': 
> 
> AND thank you so much for taking the time out to read this behemoth of self-indulgence <3 *kiss emoji x100*


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